Be By My Side
by Ihsan997
Summary: After the Third War, the night elves were exposed to a new world that was strange. One human soldier, weary and seeking peace, seeks refuge in their sacred forest. Old prejudices die hard; and not all attempts to bridge gaps between peoples are meant to be. Set between Warcraft III and World of Warcraft. 10 chapters.
1. Disconnection

**A/N: Although this is a prequel of sorts to my stories 'Four Nights in Gorgrond' and 'You, Me & Us,' it can be read on its own as a standalone tale. For those who only know about Warcraft from the online roleplaying game launched in 2004, this story takes place in the five year (in game lore) gap between the end of the strategy game Warcraft 3 (released in 2002, but in the story the gap was five years not two) and the launch of the online game.**

 **A quick summary so you don't have to spend more time checking Wowpedia: the night elves were a third separate faction in W3, and actually fought against the Alliance just as they did the Horde until all three united to defeat Archimonde. The nelves joined the Alliance some time between the two games, but that was never explained (or logically justified) by Blizzard. This story takes place during that time, before the night elves joined the Alliance. The humans retreated to Dustwallow, the Horde retreated to Durotar and Mulgore and the nelves were left in shock, their 10,000 year old society irreversibly changed as they lost their isolation and immortality, and would grow old and die like the outlanders they now had to deal with.**

 **Hope that clarifies things for those who never knew the old school games. Enjoy!**

Purple and green. All around, purple and green.

Dark brown filled the space in between.

Light blue twinkled in his eye.

Pitch black filled the gaps in the sky.

So was the attempt to think of a poem. One of many attempts to describe the surroundings to nobody.

The ground was covered in grass, unlike the forest floor in wooded areas across the ocean. There were occasional patches of dirt here and there, especially close to bodies of water. But the forest floor was, for the most part, an endless rolling sea of dark green grass.

The tree trunks were thick, wider around at the bases than buildings. There were smaller trees growing in a few scattered areas such as near riverbanks and such, but for the most part, trees that dwarfed redwoods comprised this forest. Even if they didn't grow close together, they dominated the landscape so completely that what lied beyond the forest couldn't be seen. For hundreds of miles, nothing but the dark brown trunks of the purplewoods filled in the blackness of the forest air, so far that the eye could not see beyond them. Every single gap was inevitably filled by another tree trunk just beyond the others; the flatness of that particular expanse made no difference.

Rising, towering, arcing toward the sky, the trunks filled even the space above. Reaching heights of fifty, sixty, eighty and even a hundred feet for a few, the tree trunks stood as they had for eons; unmoving, unchanging, untarnished. The thick branches began further up, a few of them wide enough to safely traverse on horseback - were any horse capable of climbing that high into a tree.

Covering it all was the canopy. Dark purple overwhelmed his vision as he craned his neck up, though on cloudy nights when the stars were covered, the darkness took over and the canopy wasn't even visible. Dark green occasionally interspersed the dark purple, creating a mosaic that moved and shifted the further in to the forest he walked. It was impossible to tell so far down, but many of the leaves appeared to be as wide as a king sized bed. The spatial distortion at such a distance insinuated that some of those leaves might be even larger. He felt like an ant, or like a magician had cast a shrinking spell and sent him into a normal sized forest where everything now appeared intimidatingly large.

Faintly, very faintly, a bit of light broke through. So little of the night sky could be seen that one might almost forget it was there, and even the brightness of the stars was barely visible. So rarely could it be seen when traveling that those little moments where the silver light broke through were cherished memories, never growing old. The light of the forest spirits had proven more than sufficient. All along the high branches above, protected from predators and intruders below, they hovered. Never touching a solid surface, the pale blue beings of pure light wove intricate patterns as they rotated and circled around the branches. Their slow dances were hypnotic, and hours could be spent watching and observing as they repeated the same movements over and over again, lighting up the areas whenever they passed through. On those lucky, treasured nights, pairs of them would even approach each other, hovering and shimmering in an ethereal speech as the lights actually appeared to communicate with each other. The sounds of the spirits' voices were like wind chimes more beautiful than any instrument mortals could fashion.

A light breeze blew above. It was difficult to hear, but living alone in the woods led one to focus just a little bit more on the sense of hearing. Sound became just as important as vision, if not more so. The branches didn't sway one inch under the wind; were even a hurricane to strike, it wasn't likely that the massive purplewoods would have budged. The forest was mighty, strong, imposing and inspiring all at the same time. The little pink spec roving far, far below the leafy roof could only stand in awe of it all, disbelieving that he'd made it there.

Long ago had he given away his leather riding gloves; he wouldn't need them anymore. His horse's reins felt a bit rough on his hands after all the riding he'd done, but leading the Westfall warmblood on foot made things a little easier. As if knowing what its former rider intended, the warmblood followed quietly and loyally despite the short amount of time the two had spent together. Onward they both walked through the dark forest, making their way to a point where the warmblood would have a mostly straight line. The trunks of the enormous trees made it impossible to see that line, but memory would serve them both well. Off any sort of road or even beaten path, far away from any land settled by any race of people, the two of them walked toward the place of their inevitable parting.

Even among all the enormous, bed-sized leaves in the canopy high above, there were a handful of smaller, star-shape ones falling above. Twirling and drifting through the air as they fell, the crinkled, slightly aged leaves the same shade as the warmblood's bay coat fell silently all around them. It was autumn in that part of the world, though the color of the few leaves that fell was the only indication; no cool breezes could reach that low.

On a long, narrow patch of unbroken land, two silhouettes stood. Horse and rider cast their shadows on one end, the moonlight and starlight both breaking through in a few spots over the stretch of grassy soil leading out before them. It was there that they had initially come from, moving along with the long columns of soldiers from two different armies, destined to join the third that called the lands to the north their home. Three armies once enemies, temporarily united to face a wider threat now defeated; the world would ostensibly return to a peaceful state. Those bearing skin ranging from brown to pink such as the rider marched south, either to their port in the temperate marshlands or back to their own continent across the ocean. Savages who had proven themselves noble settled into the barren wastes before then, and the land immediately south was wide, flat and filled with the types of dangers the more rustic races were comfortable with. Squat people with large jaws and green skin, tall people with long tusks and blue hide, and furry people bearing the snouts and horns of bulls joined up to fight for land against less civilized peoples just as imposing. Those who were originally of this land, those of the forests and mountains, could only retract to lick their wounds and try to salvage what they'd lost, the fact that they'd sacrificed so much more than either of the other two sides largely uncelebrated and unthanked.

All of that was beyond his control and now, beyond his concern. The rider stood at the head of the long stretch that would send the horse back in the direction of the flat, open wastes; a land where, albeit foreign, would be much more suitable for the warmblood than the dark forests of the north. The horse had been born wild, tamed in a rush and juggled from rider to rider; setting it free was the only logical, ethical choice. And it was a choice that would affect him just as much.

His heart pounding in anticipation of finally living up to his promise, the rider removed his to travel packs from the sides of the saddle and laid them on the ground; they would get in the way for the time being. Ever mindful of potential threats to a lone pilgrim in the woods, he removed the rifle only to strap it immediately to his baldric, and removed the ammunition bag only to strap it immediately to his thick utility belt. One could never be too cautious, and even on the war trail where the three armies converged, the dangers of the forest had become apparent; bears, wolves, panthers and spiders as large as any of the above lurked in many hunting grounds; a hungry traveler could never approach a deer without knowing whether or not they were also being stalked.

The tack contained leather and iron; both materials could potentially be reused later. Living on the move would mean that nothing could be thrown away, and as the rider took off the horse's trappings, his pulse throbbed even down into his fingers as he realized he was truly undertaking the task, the beginning of his pilgrimage. Loyal even at the cusp of saying goodbye, the warmblood dipped its head to give the rider an easier job of reaching up and removing its reins. A few moments later, and the horse was as unencumbered as it had been the day whatever wranglers had caught it on their home continent robbed it of its freedom. So loyal had it been that no other end seemed befitting, especially if the rider truly had made up his mind.

For another few moments, the warmblood bent its head down one more time for its chin to be scratched. Fiery but intelligent, the horse recognized that under his care, it had never been abused or overworked, not even in the midst of battle. And there, at the inevitable parting of ways, its eyes shone like glass and the rider knew it felt an emotion as close to sadness as one could describe an animal as feeling. No words were necessary – indeed, the rider hadn't even tested his vocal cords in a week – as the two of them bid each other farewell via body language. Hesitantly at first, the warmblood started south with a trot and eventually a gallop, creating no sound as it bound toward the flat expanses it could remember, its fate as much its own choosing as the rider's.

He stood in place, watching what had become his only friend leave and stood some more to make sure it didn't come back. Proving that animals bore a certain measure of logic beyond what many people held, the warmblood didn't allow sentiment to prevent it from embracing its freedom. As a few more leaves fell and the stars shone brightly, the rider became a wanderer; alone, but by no means lost.

Time passed differently without interaction with other people. Conversation and feedback marked events in the day to day happenings of life, and living in a society based around bending nature to its own will led one to reliance on that society for marking the days and weeks. And it was exactly that type of lifestyle from which he sought to flee; to flee from a way of life that posited nature as a threat.

Under the darkness of the canopy, the forests of the northern half of the continent, the world was bathed in endless night. So little light could break through that the hours of day were no brighter than the hours of night. No matter how much the wanderer reminded himself that he wanted this, there was no denying the difficulty of the transition. To live nocturnally was one thing; to truly move through life as a traveler, harming no living thing without reason and leaving no traces of exploitation in one's wake, was entirely different from everything an agrarian society was built upon. Many of those countless days, impossible to measure, passed as the wanderer learned to fend for himself. Life as a forester was quite different knowing you had a cabin in the town to return to; the life of a nomad in forests no less daunting presented much more serious challenges.

The wanderer persevered. Introspection, one of the initial goals of living in solitude, soon proved itself to be the folly of the sedentary. If one no longer needed to wear the trappings of agrarian or urban society, one no longer needed to focus on the self so much; introspection became obsolete. More time passed and even the very definition of the self became blurry. Observation replaced judgment, and withholding judgment even became a source of contentment. To become a part of nature rather than an exploiter of it felt more freeing than any sort of artificial philosophy or grandiose reflection could.

But no seeker of the meaning of life could wander without being tested. And as the wanderer had expected, it was those who had traveled the same path long before who became the test.

Long after he'd set the horse free and said goodbye to the only other living being he'd known interaction with, the wanderer began to feel the eyes upon him. Shadows in the darkness and ghostly figures in the night haunted him, all too closely and too strongly felt to be figments of his imagination. Hidden beings who had fought the hardest against the common foe of the three armies became his silhouette now, trailing him through the woodlands that so many of his own people had desecrated before. Sharp edges and menacing auras danced around him, watching his every move and tracking his every step. His pilgrimage to commune alone with nature was not without the occasional interruptions, and it was only a matter of time before the stories of the savagery of the forest people – even more savage than the denizens of the wastelands to the south – would be proven or disproven.

For the first time since he'd arrived in that enchanted forest, the wind blew. Faint, barely recognizable but very real, it ruffled the wanderer's shaggy blonde hair, giving him a small jump as his senses were assaulted for the first time. All up and down his back, a chill pricked his skin and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was being watched again. The familiar sense of eyes upon him were magnified and to his horror, he realized that the presence that had been following him – almost always a trio of beings – was moving closer to him.

He gripped his rifle instinctively, a sign that his transition to living at one with nature rather than on the outside looking in was not yet complete; ego and the desire for preservation of the self had not yet met their internal deaths. As if knowing the strength of gunpowder, the three unseen but felt beings hung back, ceasing in their approach. What happened next shocked him more than anything they could have done directly.

Wood creaked and soil shifted from below, all moved not by an unseen force but by an internal force. The vegetation itself willed to move and did so as if possessing sentience and locomotion, changing the very landscape in the tiny clearing he'd fashioned as his place to rest during the daylight hours that week. Land that had once been occupied by cypress knees, jutting roots, partially buried stones and tree trunks became cleared out as an oak uprooted itself and crawled away like a giant insect and a stone rolled on its own accord. For the first time in a long time, the wanderer's ears were filled by a cacophony of sound as the grass even slithered away on its shoots, leaving an impossibly long trail in a pathway intentionally opened for him by nature itself.

In spite of all the strange happenings the wanderer had witnessed in the enchanted forest, the sight of the environment moving as if it were intelligent gave him pause. Everything around him responded to the command of the dark beings so feared by those from the outside, and he realized that a simple gun would do nothing to protect him.

And he didn't care.

Then and there, he began to realize how little control he had. If he had remained alive for that long, it was only because the natural denizens of the woods had allowed him to remain so. Just as he had expected, just as he had observed, they were neither malevolent nor gracious; they were entropic. Neutral. Natural. Their only goal would be to protect their home, and they were neither moral nor immoral, but amoral; just like nature, in its brutal honesty and utilitarianism. The lifestyle he had come to learn and emulate.

The trio of beings were aware that he'd detected them; he knew it. And when he let the rifle slip from his hand and set it aside, he knew that for once, _he_ was the one who caught _them_ off guard. The other outlanders had proven their destructive nature by reacting in defensive hostility; he would be a common hypocrite were he to react the same way.

Confused, the beings let themselves become just a little too easy to perceive, and for the first time since they'd been harassing him, testing him, pushing him, the wanderer could pinpoint their exact positions. One stood behind him as he assumed they had been doing up until that point, ready and able to strike him down but restraining herself until it became necessary in their view. Two more stood before him, in perfect position to end him were he to fire a shot at either one. Their prowess during the recent war had demonstrated that he could fire off one shot at those who had been allies temporarily; he would not be fast enough to fire off a second.

But he made no move to do so; he had no desire. And that, more than anything, seemed to confuse them.

One of them approached again, slightly off to his side. The wind blew against him once more, pushing down through the pathway that the very environment around him had formed to usher him out of their sacred woodland. A huge defender of the forest, female like all of them but so tall that his face was almost at her waistline, cautiously crept toward him, as slow and purposeful as they always were. They had never moved that close to him before; he would have sensed them. His heart jumped into his throat as the true test of what he desired presented itself. Fear of the giantess stepping closer and closer gripped his soul; he had always fought at a distance during the war, and this was the closest he'd physically been to a potentially hostile target.

Towering over him, the dark being's two eyes became visible even as her shape and outline remained transparent; the scenery behind her became distorted and stretched ever so slightly, signaling only to the most perceptive that someone was even standing there. But the eyes, glaring and resentful, became more visible than perhaps the being even realized. The others continued to watch as it leaned down, and the wanderer's throat constricted.

In a voice that sounded like the wind blowing where it never blew, the haunting, otherworldly voice spoke, and its words, as simple as they were, entered his ears and scared him. _Go away_ , it spoke in his language. The voice bore an accent, was barely audible and was difficult to understand due to poor pronunciation, but he understood, loud and clear. The being continued to hover over the wanderer, so close that her hair would have brushed against him had it not been tied back; so close did it stand that he could actually tell.

A feeling of being wronged bubbled up within the wanderer. Fear swirled around as well as he realized this could be the end, and his attempts to reach out and emulate a lifestyle he found more natural than his own would miserably fail, leaving him alone, anonymous and unmourned in a continent far from what very few living yet distant family members he had remaining. But in defiance of the logical sense to be afraid, his indignant sense of oppression won over. He had done no wrong; he had not harmed their enchanted forest. And because of that, he felt he had the right to talk back.

 _No_. A short, simple phrase but effective nonetheless. And when he said it, he used their language.

Displaying their uncanny speed but also a sense of shock uncharacteristic for the ancient defenders of the wood, the huge being stepped back, and the wanderer could sense the two others bristle as an outlander spoke in their sacred tongue. Their necks craned around to look at one another so quickly that he could almost see the distorted movement, surprised himself at how much effect his word bore. The larger of the three beings looked upon him in a mixture of shock and anger, remaining invisible yet clearly seen to him; their eyes could be see when up close.

Rustling rang out from behind him as the third of the trio moved. Had she wanted to kill him then and there, it would have been the best time. But the wanderer was ready; part of nature was an acceptance that one could not control all things. Perhaps it was that acquiescence to whatever may come that led the being from behind to move beyond him, joining the others as they retreated. The dark dwellers of the forest were masters of deception and stealth, yet the bushes and lower branches visibly rustled as they hurried away, so great was their disturbance at having been exposed. The cacophony of nature rang out once more as the trees, shrubs and even stones shifted once more, moving back into the exact same position as the path out of the enchanted forest disappeared; the environment no longer saw him as a threat, throwing its three protectors into disarray.

Hushed tones of their sacred tongue reached his ears, and the wanderer realized that they thought he couldn't hear them. Curiosity got the better of him and he tried to listen, holding absolutely still so as not to startle them into acting rashly – they already appeared more agitated than he'd witnessed before with their cover blown.

Their exchange of harsh words ended too quickly, but he heard enough – the most significant part. Two of the dark figures, including the tall, hostile one, disappeared into the woods, moving out of sight easily given their transparent nature. The first one, the shortest one, far shorter than any of the natives he'd seen at the great war, remained behind after having ushered the two others away.

For the longest time, she stood and watched. Neither of them moved, the tension too great at first. Time passed by as they stared and the tension turned to something else…something the wanderer didn't quite understand. As those two ancient, observant, understanding eyes looked at him, revelation dawned upon him like the light of the moon itself on a dark night out in the open. Somehow, some way, he could sense her…he could sense that she _knew_ he was looking at her. The warriors of the night who had protected their sacred wood for so long, who had fought the first two armies at first before joining forces only to disappear after their sacrifice, valued secrecy so much; they did not like to be seen.

Yet there she stood, very clearly aware that he could see her. Her body remained transparent, but her outline was there, and expressive eyes that could no longer be hidden read into his own.

She stared at him for a long time before leaving. Fear would continue to grip him when the dark beings shadowed him, but never the way it had before; of that, he felt sure. For the first time since he began his self-imposed isolation from the world outside, the wanderer saw a glimmer of tolerance for his presence from one of the inhabitants of the forest.


	2. One Year In

Johan readjusted the small mirror he had propped between the gnarled folds of the immense Ashenvale purplewood he had chosen to camp at that week, taking care that it wouldn't fall. More than a year in into his new, semi-nomadic life and he had managed to prevent it from falling and shattering twice. He might be able to trade for a new one, but caring for what few material possessions he still held on to was one of the joys of daily life he had never realized before.

Sitting on a rock he had rolled over under the small ditch roofed by a dozen massive, jutting roots of the purplewood, the youth took time washing and combing his hair. If there's one thing from what he had learned from observing the elves that he put into practice daily, it was hygeine. Foregoing the manufactured soaps common of the upper classes of his own people, Johan had learned to mash and mix natural fragrances himself over time. Rinsing out the hair on his face and scalp with the slightly tingling but naturally disinfecting concoction he had produced from several species if berry and sap became a weekly routine, just as cleaning up the finer points of his appearance - even if nobody saw him other than the sprite darters that followed him everywhere - became a daily routine.

One of the two sprite darters floated around him on that particular night, watching him cautiously at first as the pair always did. The otherworldly creature hovored onto one of the large roots of the tree forming a natural ceiling over the dugout ditch Johan had been camping in and watched the young man in fur trousers as he pulled a straight razor - one of the few human artifacts he had kept from home in Westfall - from his bearskin travel bag. Looking in the mirror, Johan ran a hand along one of his cheeks.

"I'm tired of this style," he said to the female of the pair as it landed on an opposite root. "Maybe this month…how about I try to switch things up?" He turned from the mirror to the darting faerie dragon as though it could understand him. "What do you think?"

The darter's flourescent wings shone as it let out an ethereal croak, though it's tone sounded approving enough to him. "Alright, new style it is! Always nice to try new things, isn't it?" Parting his hair down the middle and brushing the two shoulder-length sides behind his round ears, Johan took the razor to one side of his face.

Loneliness had been surprisingly easy to stave off so far. Regardless, he quite enjoyed the company of the two creatures. He'd seen them accompanying the natives of the land during the Third War, and knew they were capable of defending themselves if provoked. Around him, however, these two in particular were as harmless as house cats. Often, they were waiting for him as he awoke at his various campsites, and on one occasion had even stirred him from his slumber to warn of an approaching wolf. Though they were most certainly animals, they were welcome companions all the same, and talking out loud to them had helped him sate whatever desire for daily interaction he still retained.

In a way, they reminded him of his cousin Harold. The man had owned two house cats of similar natures; he had also been one to teach Johan how to shave when the need had started a few years prior. The similarities gave him a very fleeting sense of déjà vu at a time when he thought he'd cut off from a life he left behind him.

"Ow, son of a gun!" Johan whispered to himself as he nicked his cheek at the memory of his cousin. Images of his former home tugged at his heartstrings, but were quickly flushed out as he finished and moved on to his second cheek.

Once he finished, Johan put pressure on his cheek without lingering in front of the mirror too long, took a volume from the top of the pile of books he had laid on his bedroll and made his way out of the dugout. If he had to wait for the thin cut to finish bleeding before putting a shirt on, he may as well hold a book in the other hand and get some more reading done.

"Guys, watch the camp for me, will you?" The two sprite darters took turns chasing each other in and out of the root system over the dugout as he sat on a grassy patch on the bank of the nearby river, one hand holding his book covered in elven script and the other applying pressure to the cut.

"The Sentinels and the Long Vigil," he read out loud, his pronounciation of the elven prose only slightly accented.

He had read it a hundred times, though he never grew tired of it. As a child, the village library contained a few tomes left by high elves about the supposed 'dark elves' on a mist-shrouded continent across the ocean, though they were considered fairytales and much of the information - as he now knew from firsthand experience - was inaccurate. They had fueled the daydreams of his childhood, though, and while the other children were spending their time on checkers and other simple games, Johan spent his time learning to read the ancient script with the quarter-elf librarian in his aunt and uncle's village. The old sage's pronounciation wasn't perfect and Thalassian had numerous differences, but upon Johan's enlistment to the Alliance forces during the Third War, it served him well when his unit first encountered the inaccurately named 'dark elves.'

Wind rustled the enormous leaves of the canopy at least a hundred feet up, and Johan couldn't help but close the book for a minute and enjoy the sound until it dissipated. The huge purplewoods were by far larger than any trees in the Eastern Kingdoms, with trunks as wide around as the house he grew up in. They were spaced wide apart, leaving the entirety of the Ashenvale rather sparsely forested despite its seeming impenetrable nature. The stars were barely visible through the canopy, and the sight and sound coupled with the still air below were, in and of themselves, an experience that made his self-imposed solitude worth it; the canopy prevented the wind from flowing down at the forest floor, leaving the air still despite the whistle of the breeze. The darkness of the night sky, the light of the stars, and the vibrant colors of the purple canopy, dark brown trunks and green grass…no, he never doubted the choice he had made.

The breeze died down and Johan flipped the book open again, continuing to review a chapter on the rounds the Kaldorei patrols made annually around the southern reaches of their lands. In the past year since the Battle of Mount Hyjal had ended, Johan had slowly learned to recognize their outlines from afar when they shadowmelded, and could identify which groups were regular sentries and which had been sent out to hunt for skins and meat (unlike his race, the night elves apparently kept no livestock in their settlements). Watching for them had always excited him even more than hunting for his own food. As much he did feel at home by himself, he certainly didn't mind company even if he was technically being monitored as an outsider, and his fascination with their lifestyle is what had led him to stay behind when the rest of the humans retreated to the Alliance stronghold of Theramore far to the south.

Spying movement across the river, Johan continued holding his book open while spying the area just underneath a bush. After a few seconds, a squirrel scampered out and then back in, rusting the leaves of the bush as it ran.

He chuckled at his eagerness. The sentries never patrolled that area, and the bush was far too small to conceal any of them anyway.

Sensing that the cut was sealed, Johan proceeded to wash his face in the pure water of the river. The schools of koi fish that seemed to be everywhere in northern Kalimdor rushed to watch him as though there was nothing to fear, their scales glimmering under the strands of moonlight escaping from between the thick branches above. Making his way back up to the camp, he pulled one of the few shirts he had originally brought with him from Westfall and struggled to put it on. Although he was still growing a bit taller, the constant physical activity required by his lifestyle - coupled with a more natural diet heavy on berries, roots and white meat - had caused him to grow a bit broader as well. The white t-shirt fit snugly, though he could have sworn he heard a stitch or two snap around his chest. He couldn't be sure given the trickling sound of the river.

Having finished his moonrise review of the books he'd chosen, Johan flipped open the last journal he hadn't yet filled. His separate backpack for books was the heaviest item he ever carried, though he had begun to worry about storing them. He couldn't lug them around forever, and he had actually considered leaving off writing to focus on simply experiencing the natural world around him; there wasn't much reason to record what might never be read.

Opening to a blank page, Johan wrote rapidly in elven script as he recorded his thoughts on the eerie silence in the parts of the forest near the natives' dwellings - not even the crickets could be heard chirping, and the birds did not sing in the general vicinity of their hidden glades. It was as though the entire environment quieted down so they could better monitor their sacred grove, and when he wandered into those sections he always left out of respect. They had left him unharmed even as they ejected other outsiders from their lands regularly, and it seemed intrusive to approach their settlement without permission, he wrote.

It had been more than a year since Johan imposed nomadic isolation upon himself, he realized. At just a few months shy of his eighteenth birthday, he'd taken his deceased uncle's rifle and joined an Alliance ship carrying irregulars to fight the Burning Legion on the new continent and, if need be, the dark elves he had read so much lore about. The relations of the Kaldorei with the Alliance were just as tense as with the Horde at first - they had fought several skirmishes and many among his people as well as their dwarven and high elven allies dismissed the night elves as savages only slightly more civilized than orcs. Considering that Johan never had a problem with orcs anyway - evil was committed by individuals, not entire groups - it wasn't difficult for him to reach out the first time his unit encountered a night elf patrol as they both made their way to the final confrontation with Archimonde at Mount Hyjal.

It wasn't easy to communicate at first. Johan's Thalassian was conversational at best and the high elf sorceress accompanying his unit stubbornly insisted that she couldn't understand a word of the 'barbaric' tongue of the Kaldorei - a pure lie if he ever did hear one. There were obvious differences, but the fact that the two languages were mutually intelligible was obvious even to the humans and dwarves in his unit who spoke no Thalassian. The first few meetings were tense but fascinating as all three sides joined forces to fight the Burning Legion, and he filled pages and pages of his journals describing every detail of the imposingly tall, stoicly silent beings he had grown up thinking of in awe.

With most of his family members dead, the surviving ones scattered and bickering over petty inheritance disputes and his forestry skills exceptional, the introverted frontier boy found it quite easy to simply stay behind in the forest after the Third War concluded. In fact, Johan felt as though no specific, conscious decision was made at all. As he watched the last column of Alliance soldiers march south toward the Barrens and then on to Dustwallow Marsh, he felt as though following them would have been a conscious decision requiring justification. Remaining in the forest, however, felt more natural than anything else he had known in his short life.

He flipped through the last volume of his journal. Noticing that there were only ten blank pages left, Johan marveled at how much it didn't seem to bother him. Part of trying to commune with nature and live without leaving footprints was the acceptance that he was a part of that balance, and his time would soon pass. Perhaps it was his youth that allowed him to accept such a fate so easily; he had built up little to lose in life. He wondered if acknowledgement of his own impending death outside the civilization of his people would seem as normal and natural when it was staring him in the face.

"Hey, settle down you two," he said to the sprite darters with a laugh. They had crawled closer to him on the underside of the tree roots to get a better look and their long tongues kept darting out of their mouths to catch his attention.

Johan gave both creatures a pet before setting his last journal on the pile of books and rising to exit and start a fire. Though he couldn't explain why, he suspected that the two little elf dragons bore an intelligence bordering on sentience given their attempts to communicate. They had been his most loyal and ever present friends for nearly a year, just before contact was established.

As he arranged the kindling in preparation for the night's campfire, his mind drifted back to the first few months of his self-imposed isolation. There were learning curves, certainly, but he adapted to both the lonliness and the rugged lifestyle as well as he could have hoped. He spent the first month observing the movements and tracks of the more dangerous wild animals and learned to avoid them, and the second observing the growth of edible tubers and roots as his hard rations dwindled. Hunting for meat, fur and leather came only at the end of the second month when he was confident he could care for himself materially.

It was only in the third month that the young forester combined what he knew from the fairy tales about 'dark elves,' his first hand experience with them during the Third War and a log he had salvaged from a departing supply caravan on observations of their movements that Johan tried to find - or more accurately, tried to be found by - the night elves. Were anyone to ask him why, it would have been another question he would find no need to answer. His drive seemed as normal to him as remaining in the forest, and he rarely pondered over it. His fascination both drove him and extinguished any need for introspection.

They were rightly suspicious at first; his people destroyed forests just as quickly as the orcs and since they were long lived beings, he was certain his short lifespan might lead them to assume him brash, tempermental or otherwise ill-intentioned. His childhood growing up in the forest, though, had made him more in tune with his surroundings than other humans; he was entirely aware the first time a patrol of three large, unseen beings shadowed him as he inspected several berry bushes and didn't acknowledge their presence. What he assumed was the same patrol followed him for days, unable to drag him off in his sleep as he had already reverted to their nocturnal schedule by then. Daylight, as he had learned at the base of Mount Hyjal, interfered with their eyesight and impeded their ability to shadowmeld. On the fourth day they departed only for another group of three to track him down soon after. It went on like that for a few weeks, and then the aggression started.

They actually fooled him the first few times. A snapping twig, the clear sound of a combat boot stomping the soil, the occasional hiss. Johan ignored it all, and after another period of observation the attempts at intimidation escalated. Though they never stole or left him destitute, he would return to his camp after forays into the wilderness and find his supplies strewn about as some sort of a warning. The sentries - thinking themselves invisible - would sometimes approach him only to back away when he would meet their eyes. It came to a head when one of them attempted to speak Common. 'Go away' was all she could rasp, though the other sentries whose presence he sensed stopped in their tracks when he addressed them politely in their own language. Taking a risk, he left one of his two salvaged logs on Darnassian phrases translated into Common, some trinkets manufactured in his home town and some elk jerky which he had dried himself (he learned when trying to approach a night elven unit after the Battle of Mount Hyjal that they didn't know what jerky was but loved it). When he returned, the items were gone and the observation continued from both ends.

Somehow, some way, they figured out what he was doing and reciprocated: upon following their intentionally obvious clicking noises, he happened upon a tiny clearing with a variety of fruit he had never seen before, an elven ring unlike those of the high elves and a book. The last gift was the most treasured, a treatise giving an overview of night elven history up to the War of the Shifting Sands; it was, apparently, intended for those of their people born at that time and needing to learn their history after the society had been without children or schools for millennia. Johan read it front to back three times before the sprite darters began following him, and only a few months later - half a year into his having no direct contact with other sentients - did they reveal themselves in a tense yet unaggressive meeting at his campfire one night.

"And here we are," Johan said to nobody in particular as he sat down in front of the fire.

He arranged the logs in the same pattern he had that first night they made their presence known, staring at him with emotionless glowing eyes. When he reacted without fear or apprehension, the stoic elves could not conceal their shock, and it began an interesting friendship where he, the outlander alone in their forest, was constantly surprising them rather than the other way around.

Laying out a few rabbit haunches on a flat rock, Johan closed his eyes and allowed his mind to rest. Living alone often caused one to overthink. Given that it was the night of the weekly visit by whichever patrol was on duty, he wanted his mind to remain clear.

And so he sat, his eyelids and his serene smile warmed by the fire until he sensed them there. Their footsteps were silent but he had learned to feel them out. They stood before him, ever patient as they waited for him to open his eyes.

As usual, there were three of them. Their bodies weren't entirely opaque, but he'd learned to spot their outlines. Massive sabretoothed cats with fur the color of night stood at the ready, each of their claws the size of a steak knife. They were larger even than the Stranglethorn tigers he had seen with a traveling circus as a child, and he knew from the Third War that these mounts were as ferocious as any trained soldier. Atop the backs of all three were the dark, feral looking riders. Sharp, pointed ears and long eyebrows complimented the bright shine of their eyes to form a sight that would send most other humans running and screaming. The glint of their flawless suits of armor reflected the light of his campfire despite their partially transparent nature, providing an ethereal view of the warriors of the night as they watched him.

It was a sight that should have terrified him, yet it filled him with even more warmth than the campfire.

Johan pushed his fist into his opposite palm as he had learned and bowed his head to all three of them. "Greetings," the young man said in his only slightly accented Darnassian. "It's so good to see you again."

Although his words were directed to all three, his pale blue eyes focused on the elf in the middle. Noticeably shorter than the others though still a hair taller than him, her presence was far more commanding. Waist length locks of dark indigo hair fell over back, lying against a cape of the same color and contrasting with her deep mauve skin color in a way that was almost hypnotic. Her heretofor expressionless face returned his smile ever so slightly, and she spoke for the group as she dismounted first.

"Likewise, diligent one," she answered with a voice that somehow reminded him of wind chimes. The other two followed her lead and dismounted, though they hung back and remained only partially visible. The leader remained between them all, fully visible and much more forward in her manner than the other two, though still bearing that elven restraint he'd noticed among the high elves. "You seem to have fashioned quite the living space for yourself here," she added while eyeing the area he'd scratched out beneath the tree roots.

Johan's first instinct was to think of some sort of an explanation for his actions, recoiling in defense of the possible insinuation that he'd disrupted their lands. Over the time he'd observed them, though, he'd learned that they tended to seek to understand before seeking to be understood, and had given the behavior much consideration. Clearing his mind, he simply spoke whatever came to his mind.

"The forest always provides if we but respect the balance," he replied.

This time, the leader of the three elves more visibly reacted in approval as her mouth pulled into a more noticeable, yet still understated, smile. "I take it you've enjoyed the books we loaned you...and I can assure you that what you loaned us has also been out to use."

The small chess match ensued, and the two companions of the leader broke their shadowmeld and became fully visible without joining her spot just a few paces away from him. Ever cautious, they never seemed to rush introductions, and he'd once wondered if they would simply leave if he ever misspoke or misstepped. Fortunately, they didn't seem to find anything wrong with standing tall without the need to busy their hands, which he found freeing compared to the need of other peoples to constantly look busy.

"Ah...so the people of your village all practiced speaking in Common for three hours a night? And you used all the phrases in the log?"

Almost like the sighting of a rare moon, her lips pulled into an open, obvious smile, causing one of her companions to nearly follow suit. Switching into fluent if accented Common, she demonstrated the results to him. "More than half of us now. Every single night, as you advised."

"Good, that's great progress. I suppose that...a bit of practice would be in order...Sentinel Unelia?" he asked, ever cautious and wary of being too direct in his speech. The elf who heretofore had not smiled snorted, a sign of displeasure that wasn't particularly subtle among their people, but her reaction went unacknowledged.

For the second time since he'd known her, the usual leader of the patrols in that area actually bowed her head and directed her gaze toward the ground as she just barely showed the white of her teeth. "We would always be honored to learn and to teach," she replied softly.

That seemed signal enough to her less surly companion, who walked toward the logs Johan had set up around the campfire, only then revealing a bag of what appeared to be vegetables in one hand. She looked at the seating spots briefly before turning toward him with an expectant expression; they'd wait for an hour to be invited before asking on their own.

"The honor is all mine. Please, make yourselves comfortable," he said while motioning toward the logs with his entire hand. "The goddess saw fit that I capture a rabbit tonight; it would be prudent to begin preparing the food while I listen you your improvements."

Nodding without speaking, the second elf took a seat and began pulling out the produce they'd grown in their village, as they'd done so many nights before ever since they had begun to penny communicate with him. Even the third elf eventually joined them after a big of unpleasant hesitation, taking the partially skinned rabbit from among his belongings without asking in a display that was rash by their standards. As they got to work, Unelia brushed past him and turned to speak when they were only about a foot apart; it was difficult to remind himself that she was a rather hardened warrior and his respected guest, and that it would be imprudent to let his mind linger on the otherworldly beauty she possessed.

"You have our thanks, Johan," she told him quietly. Though she seemed nonchalant about the comment, it still seemed odd to him; they never thanked each other for the exchange of linguistic and cultural lessons before, nor did she tend to speak to him out of earshot of the others.

"Oh...you're welcome, Sentinel," he forced himself to say before he could let himself become nervous. They had a good deal of time practicing speaking ahead of them, and he didn't need his heart racing the way it had a few times before,

The four finished their post-lesson meal of rabbit, cucumber and carrot stew in silence, a habit he had picked up from them. The sabres and darters all preferred to prowl and forage in the surrounding area, leaving the three elves and single human to their language practice and meal sharing. Passing food back and forth was a form of bonding for the Kaldorei, as Johan had learned, and he always felt honored even as more regular faces began appearing at their weekly sittings.

The sentry who had smiled along with Johan and his teacher wiped her eating hand on a handkerchief and her clean hand against her sea green hair to smooth it back. The two women sat opposite Johan as they finished eating, while the third faced away and kept to herself as usual.

The greenheaded sentry began to speak in intermediate level Common, eager to practice what the young human had just taught them. "This is aa good raabit," she spoke slowly with a heavy accent. "Thaank yoo for it, Dchohan." Though she was brave in speaking, her sentences in his language were simple, and she sounded much less articulate than she actually was.

"You're welcome, Velonia. And your speech flows better every time you visit."

Relatively young for the average age of the others in their small hamlet, Velonia was a little more animated, and didn't resist the urge to purse her lips in a show of cautious appreciation. "Now you're making fun of me," she responded in Darnassian with an embarrassed grin.

"No, I'm being honest," Johan insisted. "You appear to think less about what you say before you say it, at least when compared to before."

With some difficulty, she code switched back into Common. "I caan try my bhest, just only," she said.

"Your best is quite good - you should give yourself more credit. Soon enough you can have conversations entirely in Common with your shield sisters, without my presence," he claimed, his certainty showing through.

Though Johan meant it honestly, the greenheaded elf snorted a laugh through her nose as though she didn't quite believe him. When she gave him a polite nod and moved to pour herself some water, Johan faced Unelia. As the highest ranking in the group that usually passed through the area, she was his unofficial teacher of Kaldorei faith and lore and the reason the locals had agreed to initially establish contact rather than eject him from their forest.

"How are the others faring, back in your grove?" he asked with barely concealed interest in their home.

Unelia smiled with a mouth full of food as she struggled to keep her lips closed. Once she swallowed, she took a sip from Johan's waterskin - earning them both a dirty look from the enormous elf scowling on her own seating log - to rinse her mouth before speaking. "We have tried to introduce periods during the night where our off-duty sisters practice what they've learned in groups, as you outlined for us," she explained while she turned on her seat to face him as well. "But as you predicted might happen, they fall back into speaking our native tongue when they can't find the words to express themselves. As you put it...it's all downhill from there." Removing the half-helmet covering the upper part of her head and face, Unelia became serious for a moment. "Our lives were once so long, and we are used to learning at a slow pace."

"It's not easy even for those of us with shorter lifespans," Johan said in a similarly formal tone. "It took me a few years to become passable in Thalassian. Your sisters, however, do have the advantage of a larger number of people to practice with. Twenty something people is a good number of conversa-"

"There are twenty five of us," the tallest of the three elves snapped in Darnassian. She used her hair - the exact same color of Unelia's along with her matching skin tone - to conceal the side of her face as she stared in the opposite direction. "It isn't difficult to remember." A brief, uncomfortable silence fell over the others until Unelia spoke.

"Twenty something, in the language of our _guest_ ," she retorted in Darnassian with an emphasis on the last word, "refers to any number between twenty and thirty." Johan and Velonia both held still as Unelia stared down her larger but younger and lower ranking blood sister. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, though it had only a single, surly source. "Would you like to practice your math-related vocabulary with our honored host, Isurith?" she asked pointedly in Common as though to reestablish to chain of command.

A few more seconds passed as Isurith continued looking away from the group. Johan truly had no qualms with the younger sister and always sought to excuse her behavior as the natural culture shock someone who had spent ten thousand years in a waking dream would experience upon realizing not only that there was an outside world but that she would die, like him, before she would get to see most of it. Chafing under the intense stare Unelia was giving her sister, Johan tried to look to Velonia for guidance though she seemed as perturbed as he was. The older yet shorter sister saved them both when she reopened the discussion.

"I do believe the linguistic portion of our night has come to an end," Unelia stated calmly as she leaned closer to Johan, and he could sense she was trying to assure him that all was well. "You teach rather well, Shan'do."

Her wry smile as she addressed him with a title of such respect in their language caused him to blush for the first time since the locals had interacted with him. Such a term was reserved for high ranking teachers, and considering how awestruck he was with the depth of night elf history and culture in general as well as Unelia in particular - she was old enough to remember Azeroth even before arcane magic had been discovered - he felt unworthy of her words.

"Oh, don't say that," he chuckled sheepishly as he tried and failed to look her in the eye. "My knowledge is nothing next to yours, I'm just trying my best to help."

"You help us by teaching a valuable skill. Many of us refer to the lands outside our own as the 'brave new world.' We must be able to communicate if we are to survive." At Unelia's last sentence, her sister silently slinked away and tended to the sabres, eliciting from Johan and even Velonia visible breaths if relief. "As encounters with your kind increase, knowledge of your language will increase in importance. The world will not change for us."

Johan ran a hand through his hair, not knowing what else to say to the compliment. "Well, I will always help any way I can. It's the least I can do considering the guidance your people have extended to me."

Patience was a virtue of their people he tried to emulate, though his desire to learn more got the better of him and his eyes shone hopefully. Though most the sentries from the local grove offered help with his learning on some level, none of them devoted as much time and effort to his development as Unelia. Four times a month - sometimes more - she would arrive with a book from their village library in exchange for whichever he had last been reading last. Upon their next meeting, she would have him repeat whatever he had read (mostly history though also religious studies and elven grammar), though like the others she never asked him questions about himself or what he had learned personally; all their inquiries came in the form of polite demands or statements intended as prompts.

She smiled at his comment until her lips parted slightly, and the maturing young man had to fight to focus on the conversation and retain a respectful demeanor in front of the woman who had taken him under her wing as some sort of a personal project. "That reminds me…I come bearing news." Johan leaned forward, feeling no need to contain his interest despite Velonia's stifled laugh. When Unelia merely stared at him with an almost coy expression he realized it was one of her rare instances of humor and he settled down with a smirk. "I wish to inform you that I will not be reviewing your historical studies with you here at your camp tonight."

Despite his understanding nod, Johan couldn't admit that his heart sank. Their assistance was a much appreciated kindness and he was aware that they were thankful for a native speaker to teach them Common, but he was also aware of the fragility of their insular culture and respected their right to rescind the weekly meetings and meals at any time. "Oh…I see," he said congenially as he did his best to mask his disappointment. "Well, regardless, I am still glad that the three of you came. Even without the lessons, our conversations are always enlightening."

Unelia shared an open mouthed smile with Velonia as though there was some detail he had missed. Rising from her log without a word, Johan began to wonder if they would cut the meeting short. "Our grove's leader, Priestess Lamynia, has taken an interest in your…ah…interest. Our people don't have much contact with outsiders - even other night elves - and the assistance you have provided as well as your devotion to the teachings of Elune have not gone unnoticed, even by those yet to meet you."

The words were already overwhelming. Although he was closer to Unelia than the others, the Kaldorei were so reserved and while he heard them compliment each other, any personal comments directed at him at all were uncommon. Not knowing what to say, Johan simply remained silent as Unelia motioned for him to stand.

"Your history review for tonight will take place at our home, in our village library. The Priestess has decided that you have earned enough trust to be the first outlander to set foot inside our grove."

"Really?" he exclaimed with an amount of enthusiasm that made him feel silly, though Isurith was the only one who grunted in displeasure from afar. "I mean...I'm honored. I honestly don't know what to say."

Velonia had already mounted her sabre, and Unelia was standing by Johan's books in the ditch. "You don't need to say anything. The Priestess has invited you based on the recommendations of a...few of us..." Unelia's voice trailed off and she broke eye contact, covering the side of her face with her hand. He wondered if she wasn't feeling well until she turned back to him and appeared to be fine, smiling warmly at him again. "We must return you to your camp before dawn and there isn't anyone else out here to pilfer your belonings; all you need are your books."

"Will I be able to exchange some in person, this time?" he asked, his restraint slipping from him at the thought of being the first outsider to ever enter their home. Most weeks they would bring him a book or two from their library and take one or two of those he had been keeping with him. He had long ago surrendered all his material on the differences between Common and Thalassian as well as the texts he had on forestry from the Eastern Kingdoms, taking great interest and often discussing what they had read in the week as much as what he had read.

"I promise that you'll be able to do that, as well as more," she said before looking away from him again. "We...well, we didn't plan the whole night for you, but you won't have much time since this is the first...time, is that the word again?"

"Yes, time has more than one meaning."

"Alright. This is the first time we've had a visitor actually enter inside. Everyone will likely want to meet you, so your time won't be yours entirely. But I promise, this will benefit all of us."

He had already packed his bag while they were speaking, and Isurith had ridden off without permission. Following Unelia toward her sabre, Johan let his mind wander, images running through his head of what the inner world of the fabled but inaccurately named 'dark elves' would be like.


	3. Serenity

The ride on the back of Unelia's sabre had been as exhilerating as it was precarious. Although the large cats did not quite have the speed of the domesticated horses Johan was used to riding, the were more dextrous and flexible and wove in and out of the underbrush in ways that would likely have terrified him - had he been able to see. Once he had mounted behind his teacher, her incredibly tall, unfriendly sister had blindfolded him to ensure that he wouldn't be able to seek out the grove on his own accord. Unelia and Velonia apparently didn't think it was necessary, but Isurith haughtily reminded them of the instruction from their priestess, the leader of their small community of twenty five. Johan knew all of that because all the night elves he had met so far assumed humans had poor hearing due to the size of their ears. One of the few vices Johan had not been able to leave behind was eavesdropping, and given the tendency of all of them to speak in low voices right in front of him and assume he couldn't hear, he had begun falling back into the bad habit more often than he was proud to admit.

The difficulty was not from the branches he heard whizzing by his head in the wind, but from the fact that he was literally hugging up against Unelia's back as they bumped up and down the entire hour-long ride to the grove. Johan matured a bit later than many of his childhood peers, but he still grew up eventually. Some of his distant relatives (all of his living relatives were distant, really) were members of monastic orders and the family was conservative; Johan had a few girls he shared a mutual interest with and had kissed two of them, but aside from that his experience was limited and he was in no rush to change that. Even in his confusion over leaving faith in the Light for the teachings of Elune, he still felt lust to be a distraction from hard work and studiousness.

His ideals in that respect, however, didn't make the ride any easier. Focusing on his reading and reviewing with Unelia was difficult enough considering how enamored he was with her, and was made possible only by his hard determination to succeed and her seeming fascination with a short-lived human taking interest in her religion and culture. As he wrapped his arms around her waist and felt her body against his for the first time, it took every ounce of his self control not to let his mind linger to thoughts that could spoil their companionship and his relations with the local Kaldorei as a whole. That she seemed as stiff and awkward as he was didn't help, either.

After the harrowing hour long ride, he was rather relieved to feel the sabres reducing their speed as if approaching their destination. The changes he had noticed when approaching the location of their grove in the past begun to reveal themselves: the air was more still than usual and he couldn't even hear the sounds of birds or crickets. As they came to a halt, he jumped slightly at what sounded like the creaking of wood bending but not snapping.

"Grrrruuuaaarrrrrrr…" boomed a sound which he realized was a voice.

"Unelia, what is that?" Johan whispered without realizing how close his mouth was to her ear, eliciting shudder from her, a stifled laugh from Velonia and a grumble from Isurith.

"I am not at liberty to say this time," she answered quietly over her shoulder. "You may ask Priestess Lamynia once inside. She would like to find the time to greet you tonight."

The blindfold rubbed against Johan's arched eyebrows as he realized he was not only approaching their home, but would also meet the person in charge of the entire place. It was overwhelming to think someone who had lead a faithful community for thousands and thousands of years while defending land they held sacred without falter would be interested in speaking to him.

Before he could think any further, the creaking noise erupted again and he felt the vibration of a massive weight sink into the ground. Warmth enveloped them as the climate changed drastically, and from the echoes of the sabres' footprints he could tell they were in some sort of an enclosed glade. The aroma of multiple varieties of incense, bread and blooming flowers wafted over to him just as his body acclimated to the higher temperature. Voices, footsteps, the light dings of metal, meows, and the hum of natural, non-arcane magic all filled his ears as he tried to take it in. Though Isurith might not realize it, Johan was actually thankful for the blindfold as he tried to avoid sensory overload from all the new sounds, smells and probably sights surrounding him.

"Ishnu alah, sisters," said the familiar voice of a sentry he had met weeks ago named Celonia, the mother of Velonia. He could tell that she was standing motionless and assumed it must be some sort of checkpoint.

"Isnhu dal dieb," said Velonia right back, and he could tell from the air exiting her mouth along with the phrase that she was grinning. The Kaldorei seemed so reserved with their facial expressions that any displays of emotion from them, even when they were only shared among themselves, were welcome and infectious.

None of the three warriors of the night had said a word during the entire ride there - although their natural voices were lower than those of humans, they didn't seem to speak in the range of tones of volumes that Johan's people did. They generally said little and he assumed it was due to the ritual-like habits they had formed over the millennia; everyone knew exactly what to do based on repetition. Without any words beyond the initial greetings, he felt the sabre amble over to a spot off to the side and slowly sit down in the grass, signaling that the ride was over. Johan waited patiently for instructions, wanting to show proper respect to the inner world of a people mostly sealed off from the outer world.

"The human can get up now," droned Isurith to her sister in a flat tone. "He's wasting time just sitting around."

"Our guest is in a new environment, little sister." Unelia's voice was chastising and her reply swift. "Adaptation is not instantaneous for anyone. Johan, you are free to stand and remove the blindfold as you please."

Taking care to avoid touching his teacher any more than was necessary, Johan put his hands on the back of the sabre to brace himself and stand up. Once the blindfold was removed, it took him a minute or so to take in the image in front of him. One minute may not be a large amount of time, though it felt that way when all he was doing was staring.

The clearing must have been the size of a small human village, with all the sides rimmed by natural earthen walls that must have been intentionally grown that way by nature. Those walls were about ten feet high and right up to the edge of them was an impenetrable ring of trees preventing not only movement through them but even a clear view; he couldn't see more than five feet beyond the tree wall, and other than squirrels and small birds nothing could possibly have passed in our out. The height of the canopy was nothing new, though looking up, the spots of night sky peeking from in between the tarp-like leaves shone just enough moonlight for his diurnal eyes to see.

In the center of the huge clearing was a hollowed out tree with branches and roots growing out into stairs, awnings and windowsills naturally. There were no doors though a ramp grew in a spiral around the trunk and it appeared to be a three-story dwelling. About a dozen night elves wearing civilian clothes - all of them women - were in and around the tree building, some of them performing tasks with a strikingly relaxed attitude while others were sitting in the grass or on benches growing out of the ground chatting. Numerous smaller tree buildings were scattered around, all of them squat and with stairs leading down such that the rooms were partially underground. He could hear the trickling of water, though the source wasn't apparent from the dugout alcove with numerous sabre cats sleeping in it.

Unelia stood to face him, drawing his attention. Exuding non-arrogant pride, she clasped her hands in front of her demurely and smiled. "Welcome to our sacred grove. It's small, but this has been our home and our base of operations for our patrol territory for ten thousand years." She turned back, eyeing the handful of lounging elves looking their way. "Many of our inhabitants will view you as an object of curiosity, though since this is your first visit your schedule may be tight."

Snapping out of his stupor, Johan took a moment to process what she had just said. "First time?" he asked a little too eagerly. "Does that mean I could visit again in the future?"

Seeming uncertain, Unelia snorted as she gave it some thought. "That decision is not mine," she admitted hesitantly. "But I can assure you that I and others appreciative of your efforts and diligence will request that of the Priestess."

"Well, I'm flattered," Johan replied while still inspecting the astonishing environment before him. "You've all done so much for me…I mean, I almost feel selfish asking, but I've been here a few minutes and I'm already enamored with it. I think I'd love to visit again."

With a motion for him to follow, Unelia spoke as the two of them walked after Velonia. Isurith had disappeared without a trace and it was only the three of them. "The others will be happy to hear that. We've never had a visitor, and this was technically an exception to an unwritten rule."

As they approached the central structure, more of the locals began peeking at the three of them, with a handful even laughing as they conversed. From what Johan knew of the high elves who had visited his locale as a child, elves in general disliked excessive touching, speaking and staring. Were that the case, the constant stream of glances and comments were out of the norm for the grove's inhabitants. To be fair, he could understand why; for a community of only two dozen plus one, a pink-skinned, fair-haired and blue-eyed outlander shorter than everyone save Unelia must be an odd occurence indeed.

None of the structures that they passed had doors, and on the ground floor of the central tree there were some benches and a desk not dissimilar to what one might expect from an administrative center at a human village. Standing just inside, several elves Johan recognized approached cautiously, all of them donning civilian clothes he wasn't used to seeing them in. After polite greetings, there was a moment where nobody said anything followed by subdued laughter.

"Do yoo remember who we aare when we're out of our aarmor?" asked an elf he recognized as an archer, like Unelia, from one of the patrols; her Common had a heavy accent like Velonia's but her command of the language was stronger. Her skin and hair were both a light lavender, a stark contrast to all the other locals whose hair and skin didn't match.

Stroking his chin with a finger as he thought, Johan nodded to each elf he recognized as an increasing number gathered around. "You're Vadia; we met two months ago when I was camped in a hole inside a leaning tree two hours from here."

"Oh!" she exclaimed to the amusement of the others. "Your memory serfes yoo well. You'fe met quite aa few of us; it musn't be easy to remember aall the names."

Despite his normal humility, a slightly less mature urge struck the young forester. "It wasn't easy at first," he started nonchalantly. "But I think I can remember all of you here. This is Unelia, then Velonia and this is Niorith next to you." He turned to three more plainclothes elves that had sauntered beside the rest of the group. "And you all are Delebria, Tirith and Silviel. Did I make any mistakes?"

Each elf appeared pleasantly surprised as Johan named them with rather crisp pronounciation. The six off-duty Kaldorei all took turns practicing their Common with the native speaker while Unelia and Velonia watched, occasionally chiming in when finer points on the names of things and people in both languages came up. Just as the elves finally seemed to be opening up and falling into more relaxed posture and body language - Johan observed them perhaps even more than they observed him - a familiar navy blue ponytail waved along with the heavy footsteps of metal boots worn by a winded soldier.

"Johan, our Captain is here," Unelia said after clearing her throat. "She just returned from a visit to the nearest community three days to the southeast."

In his eagerness to show respect, Johan turned and bowed formally before even spying the weathered commander's state. He could hear her winded breathing, and when he looked up he saw an armor clad night elf who seemed as though she had ran the entire three days. Aside from the obvious exhaustion, the captain also appeared preoccupied and noticeably disturbed. Foregoing her normal excessive and formal round of pleasantries when greeting, she instead bowed her head to Johan and the others cordially before facing Velonia.

"The furbolgs a day southeast of here have been corrupted," she explained between deep breaths to the suddenly shocked and preoccupied off-duty Kaldorei. "We tried to avoid putting any of them down in hope they can be cleansed in the future though it was unavoidable with a few."

"The entire tribe, Captain Ironwood?" Velonia asked with concern, seeming to speak for the group who remained silent.

Giving a slight nod, the captain not only handled the crisis quite well - Unelia had told him how they would always use ending a life as the last resort to restore the balance - but also displayed rather quick-thinking organizational skills. "I am unable to monitor the situation adequately in my current state, as were my four escorts. I'll go debrief Priestess Lamynia but I will need you watching the pathways out front in case any of the furbolgs tracked us here; the ancients have been informed."

"All too easy," Velonia answered while already halfway back to the grove's only entrance - which, as Johan noticed, was blocked with a solid wall of tree. Those must be the ancients Captain Ironwood spoke of, he surmised.

Upon returnung hee focus to the group, the Captain was faced with a suddenly serious group of plainclothes locals. "Vadia, Tirith and Silviel, help each other suit up and relieve my escort outside of duty; Velonia will likely be out there."

"And myself?" piped up Delebria in an expectant manner that sounded uncharacteristically eager for their kind, at least to Johan.

Captain Ironwood shook her head. "You know the answer, Delebria." The lower ranking night elf's ears drooped in a way that, despite her ferocity, still made Johan want to give her a consoling hug. "Give your ankle the proper amount of time for rest. We only have one other nightblade here; we can't run the risk of further aggravating the sprain again." Placing a hand on the downcast woman's shoulder - a rare instance of touch among them - the Captain nudged her toward a tree hovel outside with smoke wafting up through an empty branch that looked like a chimney; Johan vaguely noticed the scent of spices and fresh bread before the Captain turned back to him. "Unfortunately, I have official matters to tend to. In the meantime, I am sure your teacher will ensure you can see and understand our lifestyle as we emulate the path of Elune, as well as visit the menfolk - they've asked about you previously."

Johan's attention was drawn away from the awe-inspiring surroundings and back to the discussion. "Oh, I've heard about how the men slept in another version of Azeroth for so long, Captain-"

"It's Maya; I'm off duty as of now," she said with a casual tone that, for once, left him more shocked than the elves. "One of them in particular offered to help with...I believe it's a history review tonight, correct?"

"That is so," Unelia answered on his behalf.

"As you were, then," Maya addressed to Unelia despite discussing Johan. "He has quite a bit of time left before you'll need to escort him out again, so he may want to set some of his things down at their quarters." With another formal nod, Maya took Niorith by the arm to follow after Delebria to what appeared to be an elven bakery.

Broken out of his stupor momentarily, Johan turned back to Unelia. "When she says 'their,' I assume she means the men's quarters?"

"Affirmative," Unelia replied while beckoning him to follow her out of the central tree building. They walked around and toward the back and headed for a tree tucked between the outer dugout walls and a small series of hills that appeared to function as a barrier. The tree had a second floor, though it was less elaborately colored than the other ones. "You'll be able to set your bags down there; our two resident druids, Elindir and Uryndil, will be waiting and would like to speak with you. Elindir actually wanted to show you the village library tonight and he will likely end up reviewing what you've read with you, as well as practicing his Common."

Hiding his disappointment that she wouldn't be spending more time with him that night, Johan tried to look at the bright side. "From what I read, your menfolk don't get out much; is that correct?"

"Affirmative." She appeared to be falling in to her more formal, reserved tone, and Johan assumed that the campfire sittings where she and the others would share meals and talk were considered special, informal settings. "Women go out to patrol, hunt and maintain contact with other communities. Men tend to stay either within our villages or their barrow dens."

"And the barrow dens are where they sleep?" he asked with renewed interest. "And those who did not pass druidic trials guard them?"

A half-smile spread across Unelia's face as they passed another pair of elves walking by, both of them going through the motions of greeting the two but inspecting Johan with more suspicion than the others. "Yes, that is true," she answered demurely once the other elves passed. "But nine out of ten men are druids. Those who didn't make it are few and we don't see them much."

"Why is that?"

Unelia looked at the canopy as they walked, appearing deep in thought. "Well...after the Third War, the lifestyle of the druids changed."

"They woke up, right?"

"Very good. Some of them went back to sleep in shifts as their efforts are still needed; others were assigned to different communities where they help monitor the growth of our food."

Scanning the area, Johan noted the stunning lack of crops or even laborers. There appeared to be a section one might call a vineyard, were it not for the fact that the entire space was about as large as a single house. There was a bakery but no field for wheat, and although he saw one or two people eating fresh vegetables, there weren't any grocers or storage spaces among the dozen smaller hovels around the central tree.

"You're searching for farmers," Unelia quipped as she pulled him back to the present.

"I...huh?"

"I said, you're searching for signs that we farm."

It was actually a group of wisps encircling the trees that caught his attention, though given that Johan's brain was like a sponge soaking up information, he was already pondering the previous topic. "Oh, of course," he said as he realized they had stopped walking. "About half our people work on farms or with animals. They're the backbone of human and even orc civilization. But here...I mean, where do you get your food from?"

Sweeping her hands around in a half circle, Unelia pointed to the outer earthen wall ringed by trees. "Our Priestess communes with the balance to make the presence of its defenders known; her role is active in marking our location on the map of nature, so to speak. Druids within the Emerald Dream ensure that, wherever there are night elves protecting that balance, there is an abundance of fast-growing food crops concentrated on a small area. Now that the Long Vigil has ended and new threats abound, most communities have a few waking druids to directly intervene if an outside force causes an imbalance." She turned to the central tree and pointed to the third floor reaching over halfway up the canopy. "Our Priestess and others within the ranks of the Sisterhood direct the wisps manually and they provide for our material needs; night elf society has no need for builders, carpenters, furnishers or any of the laborious professions we once knew and that your people know now, beyond hobbies some of us take up to pass the time. In return, we dedicate our lives to a calling higher than ourselves: the defense of nature itself every waking moment." As she gazed up toward the canopy, Johan saw a twinkle in her eye despite the bright silver glow; the happiness she radiated after her summary of her society was the strongest emotion he had seen from her in the eight months or so he had known her.

Without thinking, he asked the next question that popped into his head, unaware that it may be too direct for a culture that valued restraint. "So are you a priestess, Unelia?"

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the twinkle in Unelia's eye disappeared in an instant and her breath caught. Although she remained staring at the canopy, Johan could sense that it was forced and that he had, inadvertently or not, caused his teacher a measure of discomfort. Guilt was not typical of his personality but Unelia had reached across ten thousand years of ingrained isolationism to respond to his interest in the balance of nature and path of Elune; that he was the cause of her extinguished happiness was an unwelcome feeling.

"Um...no, our priestess here is named Lamynia," she answered with a stutter - another first in the eight months he had known her. She continued staring at the canopy as she spoke more quickly than usual. "Kaldorei settlements...um...if they're small like ours, then they will be led by a single priestess. That's how it works. A priestess is government, clergy, and healthcare all rolled into one. They usually begin as archers due to the need for healers to avoid the front lines." She cleared her throat and breathed, closing her eyes for a moment before finally turning to face him. "Would you like to meet our resident druids now?"

Sensing her discomfort, he contritely accepted her diversion of the topic. "Yes, of course! I'm interested in seeing my new tutor for the night, actually." They walked closer to the two-story tree but stopped beside the hill.

"They're both inside and are likely waiting for you now," she said with more control of her voice than a moment before. "You can just walk right in; for the most part, you're free to roam and your entry won't be barred." She stood still at the side of the hill, her hands clasped on front of her again.

"Will I see you again before I meet the Priestess?" Johan asked as he smoothed back his hair. "Is there a sort of schedule here, or can I...how does this work?"

Despite her efforts, he could see a smile attempting to creep across her face again as she paused before answering. "You're the first outlander to visit our grove since High Priestess Tyrande directed our Priestess Lamynia to establish it ten thousand years ago," she started slowly as though she were choosing her words carefully. "There is a rough schedule; our restoration druid Elindir would like to show you our library, after which Priestess Lamynia would like to hear from you directly. I am to show you around in between so you may observe how Elune intended sentient life on Azeroth to live, but other than that...there are no rules, really. This is unprecedented."

Wiping his face in subconscious self-consciousness, Johan tried his best to let his gratitude be known. "That truly is flattering, Shan'do," he stammered. "I can't express how grateful I am for everything you've done for me."

Unelia merely held one hand in the other in front of her and cleared her throat, and some strange tension floated between them. "Well, Johan, you see...ah...you've helped us as well. With all the outlanders approaching and venturing closer to our sacred homeland, knowledge of Common and Orcish are paramount to the preservation of our way of life." Though the entirety of Unelia's eyes were a single shade of pure silver, he could just barely make out the pupils within when the two of them were so close to one another, and he could see those pupils darting back and forth rapidly. "We are all glad to have met you."

"Oh, Unelia...are you feeling sick?" he asked, his concern for her health overriding the tension and his usual propriety around his distant tutor.

She tilted her head at him in confusion. "N-no, I...perhaps I am thirsty from the ride..."

"The tips of your ears are turning dark, like the color of your facial tattoos. Is that a sign of dehydration?" His assumption that she simply needed to drink some water suddenly felt as erroneous as his attempt at damage control, and Johan resolved to keep his mouth shut when her eyes widened.

"Yes!" she blurted out while facing him but staring off into the trees beside him. "I need to return to the spring that provides us water. I'll send for you when the Priestess is ready!" Forgetting the usual formal bow when bidding a temporary farewell, Unelia turned and first walked, then trotted away until she moved around the central tree instead of toward the stone-rimmed spring he saw in the opposite direction.

The men's quarters were somewhat drab compared to the numerous hovels of the women he had spied earlier. Although the narrow ramp spiraling around to the second floor was a lighter shade of brown, the linen tarp covering the entrance and the furniture he could spy inside were mostly the same color as the trunk itself. The furnishings were more spartan and there weren't even any of the wind chimes and sculptures he noticed in the central tree. Inside on what appeared to be a long bed lied a pile of furs that slowly moved up and down as though it were alive.

Losing the fight against his natural inclination to pry, Johan moved to see through the gap between the tarp and the frame of the entrance. It was obviously a night elf, though the long, purple, bare feet were those of a man - the difference between a man's hands and feet and a woman's seemed universal across races, even a race with women warriors like the Kaldorei. The fur kilt ran halfway down the man's shins and was elaborately made, and while he wore some sort of a shawl over his shoulders, his upper body was also partially covered by a long indigo beard.

"Um...hello?" Johan didn't know what else to do short of entering the elven home uninvited. "Is Elindir here?" There was no answer, and the man he assumed was one of the two druids didn't stir. Though there was no rush if he had been granted a few hours with only a rough schedule, it felt odd and slightly creepy to just stand outside the doorway of someone he hadn't met yet. "Is there a druid whose name is Elindir residing-"

"I'm awake! I'm awake," mumbled the big purple man groggily as he pushed himself up. Even seated on the bed, he was simply enormous. He must have been taller than every one of the elves Johan had met save Isurith and Tirith, who were simply the tallest people he'd ever known personally. "Just give me a second..."

As the man stood and rubbed his sleepy eyes, Johan saw that he had antlers. Real antlers growing out of his head. Like a moose. His hair was the same shade of dark indigo as Unelia and Isurith's, as was his deep mauve skin tone. There was a strange sense of familiarity emanating from the enormous druid, the only unfamiliar aspect being his eyes. All of the other night elves Johan had met so far were women, and all of them had eyes of pure silver. The mountain of a man before him, in contrast, had eyes the color of amber like the sap from a tree and despite a life Johan assumed must have been quite long, he felt an almost youthful joy from those two eyes when they gleamed upon looking back between the tarp and the frame.

"Oh!" the druid exclaimed without the previous grogginess in his voice. "You must be Johan! I was looking forward to speaking with you," he said in Common that, like Unelia's, bore an accent so light it almost wasn't noticeable. "Come in, come in, we have much to discuss."

Entering and sitting on a stool that looked like a tree stump, Johan was struck by how rudimentary the living quarters were. From a book about the Well of Eternity, he had learned that the society of the Kaldorei was once as urbanized as those of the Thalassian elves and many of the everyday technologies the world relied upon such as pulleys were invented at that time. Lacking even glass, the hollowed out tree he found himself in was a stark contrast to the world Unelia and the other elves must have once known.

* * *

As he had suspected, the antlered druid was indeed Elindir, and as he conversed about the state of their grove and way of life in Common, he became more animated than before; it was the most endearing of any of the conversations Johan had engaged in with the elves snd he began to wonder if there was some sort of huge personality difference between the night elven women and men.

That impression was changed when Uryndil, the second of the two druids, walked in with his gnarled staff and a similarly gnarled visage.

"Oh, Johan, this is my colleague Uryndil," Elindir said in Darnassian without the excitement he exuded when he spoke Common. "He is likely returning from his nightly rounds...anything worth reporting, old friend?"

Uryndil stood motionless as he appeared to look right through the both of them. He was as tall as Elindir with a thinner face and dark green hair. Any animation or joy Elindir possessed was entirely absent from Uryndil.

"All is well," he droned with a similar tone to what Isurith would use when speaking about Johan (always to people other than Johan). "You are the visitor, I take it," he said with a more cordial tone as he addressed the human youth directly in Common. Though he exuded little warmth, he did appear as curious as most of the women did, once again flattering a being so much younger than them.

"That I am, and I'm pleased to finally meet you both," Johan replied in his crisp Darnassian, eliciting a pleasantly surprised look from Uryndil and a deep chuckle from Elindir. "Will you be joining us for the history lesson as well?"

Closing his eyes and breathing deep, Uryndil spoke with a tone that seemed to be more controlled than usual. "Another time, hopefully," he sighed comfortably, with no hint of regret in his tone. "Priestess Lamynia requires my presence in her quarters atop our tower." When he opened his eyes he avoided both of their gazes and began to search through the only set of drawers built into the wall of the ground floor.

"It appears there is another consultation needed," Elindir said so nonchalantly that Johan knew there must be something more behind the words.

As Uryndil turned around, there was an earthy smell similar to the expensive natural colognes sold in large cities in the Eastern Kingdoms, though he didn't look particularly pleased at his colleague's comment.

"May Elune be with us all," Uryndil spoke in a low voice. There was a mixture of both annoyance as well as a begrudging sort of good humor on his face as he began to walk out. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance as well, Johan," he said over his shoulder before disappearing behind the tarp.

As soon as Uryndil was gone, Elindir had already leaned forward on his own stump, resting his elbows on his knees as though he were about to make a very important point. "Johan, you've helped our community acquire a new language, and we would not have the opportunity to learn it otherwise," he began the very moment his colleague was gone. "I and most of the others are appreciative, and we're grateful for your presence here."

Despite the kindness of the druid's words, Johan could feel the sense of urgency behind them. Apprehension crept in slowly as he prepared himself for what seemed to be bad news. "I have a sense there's a 'but' clause to add to that..."

"Precisely. Our society has remained closed for ten thousand years. As you can imagine, there are those who would prefer to keep it that way regardless of what the more open-minded among us have tried to explain."

Suspicion mixed with curiosity in Johan's brain, and his anticipation of what the wise man might say next brought the impetuousness of his youth to the surface. "Is it Isuri-"

"No names," Elindir said with a polite yet silencing wave of his hand. "Elune taught us not to speak about others unless they are present to defend themselves."

"I'm sorry, and that does make sense."

"Don't apologize; you grew up in an entirely different society, and we're all impressed that you've tried so hard to change. Just keep in mind that there are those here who resent your presence somewhat." Though his tone wasn't grave, it was clear Elindir was aiming to project a seriousness into the subject. Seemingly satisfied, he put the young man even more on guard with his offer which, as enticing as it was, seemed to risk enflaming Isurith and her friends even further.

"For now, there's something that...a person would like you to have," Elindir said while rising to stand. "It's in the library, and though the rules aren't written down anywhere, I'm technically not supposed to allow an outlander to have it. This is something only you, me and Unelia will know about."

* * *

 **A/N: this isn't a weird cliffhanger; it was just the only reasonable place to cut what had been a much, much longer chapter in half. The story was originally only eight chapters and ended up becoming ten after editing.**


	4. Perspective

It had been two hours since Elindir had shown Johan inside the village library. Though it was small - why people as tall as the night elves would create a library with such a low ceiling was incomprehensible - the half underground hovel was packed wall to wall with texts. Much could be inferred about their ancient culture simply from the titles; as Johan thumbed through the shelves, it seemed as though every text was either on their religious beliefs or another historical record from the past ten thousand years. A surprisingly high number were written by their Priestess Lamynia, and he was amazed that a grove with only twenty five inhabitants would have so many stories to tell.

There were so many shelves that Johan ended up sitting on the stairs leading out of the dugout under a hollow tree, and Elindir found one end of the room where he could comfortably sit his wide frame between two of the shelves that all seemed to grow naturally from the floor to the roof.

It was from that spot that the druid first broke the silence.

"There's quite a bit of history, isn't there?" he asked without emerging from behind the shelves.

"Huh? Oh, yes, it's amazing," Johan tried to answer as his mind remained somewhere halfway between the present in front of him and the past written in the books. "I don't think I'll ever be able to finish it all."

Elindir chuckled deeply, and his still bare feet - the only part of him peeking out from between the shelves - shook in a way that caused Johan to laugh as well. "I'll be honest, I don't think anyone other than Priestess Lamynia and Uryndil have read the entirety of them," he admitted with a causalness that almost sounded like he was a human. "Not being able to finish is part of the fun."

 _Fun_? Johan thought. This guy is nothing like the others.

Given how relaxed they both were, the human forester thought it time to broach the topic lingering in the back of his mind. "Elindir...you mentioned you wanted to show me something only you and Unelia would know about," Johan began shyly. "Is it a book?"

There was a brief pause where the young man almost worried he had pried just a bit too much. To his relief, Elindir stirred behind the shelves and spoke freely, albeit in a hushed tone. "It's bound in the form of a book, yes," he answered without revealing himself. There was the sound of papers shuffling and Johan sensed the item in question was already in Elindir's careful hands. "It's a collection of things, really...things that I know you'll put to good use." Without rising to his full height, the druid lurched around the corner of the shelves with some sort of a leatherbound tome with a violet-blue cover. Cradling it close, he handed it to Johan while peering out the uncovered doorway. "Have a look at it for a moment. If you'd like to bring it with you, I can take it back to my quarters and place it in your travel bag before you leave."

Johan ran his hand across the cover and could tell that the leather was relatively new. Flipping it sideways, the pages were all of the same size but of a number of different colors and qualities, hinting that the tome had been compiled over time. The binding was a bit wider than the number of pages in the book, and from what he had learned from the quarter-elf librarian in his village, that meant that it was originally an empty case and various pages were bound to it over time.

"Can your community here produce and bind books?" Johan asked before he had even opened the tome.

"Production takes place in the handful of true cities our people have," Elindir explained as he sat in a corner facing the human. "Like all of our materials, the paper and binding are grown naturally but because books are considered art rather than a necessity, individuals must undertake the task of learning the skill and then binding the pages themselves."

Johan raised an eyebrow. "Books aren't considered a necessity here?"

"No, unlike our cousins across the ocean. Much of our culture is held in oral histories, which we memorize over decades. When you have as much time as we once did, it isn't difficult to recite entire poems about the trials and tribulations we've faced without even reviewing any notes."

"That makes sense, I must concede," Johan said while still focusing on the unopened book in his lap. "Who made this one?"

Air rushed out of Elinidir's nose and without looking, Johan knew the man was smiling. "Unelia has been piecing that together for a few thousand years."

A sense of awe ten times what Johan had felt when entering the grove struck him to the point of almost causing his hands to shake. While the entirety of the grove should have been more impressive than a simple book, the though of his teacher - a woman whom he respected more than anyone he'd ever met, who had reached out to extend assistance to him despite age-old prejudices - pouring something, anything, any story no matter how mundane, into a single volume...he didn't have the words to describe it. He almost felt unworthy to even hold it, much less open it.

Finally looking up to see the old druid, Johan noticed Elindir was smiling warmly again. "Elindir...are you sure she would approve of me taking this?"

Stroking his beard and then gripping it in his had absentmindedly, the druid held in another deep chuckle within his throat. "Don't tell her I said this, but she asked that I ensure you have it."

For reasons he didn't even understand himself, Johan's heart rate increased rapidly at the thought. Unelia had been generous so far, and it hadn't elicited such a reaction before. That she was the first one to establish contact after the night elves failed to lure or scare him out of their forest was endearing enough, and that she had quite forwardly offered to teach him Darnassian and Kaldorei history in return for lessons in Common for her people was a gift he'd treasure forever. But this book...without even opening it, he felt it something significant. Knowing that she specifically intended him to have something she had worked on for millennia caused him to feel something entirely new and beyond his vocabulary.

"I...I don't know what to say...I almost feel guilty accepting something she worked on for so long."

"She wants you to have it," Elindir repeated in good humor. "Compiling it was her choice, as is giving it to you." Leaning up against the wall for a more correct posture, the druid looked forward with a sort of interest Johan sensed must have the man laughing heartily within. "Go ahead."

Opening the front cover, Johan pored over the sketches and diagrams that filled the first dozen pages or so. The writing was incredibly old and formed with some sort of ink that didn't seem to fade over time. That the beginning pages were still legible despite being thousands of years old implied that the elves must have some unique method of papermaking that preserved the material for so long. Holding the book closer, Johan began to notice the familiar shapes of an overhead map.

"This is the stream where I camped last night..." he mumbled to himself. "This is a picture of the entrance where we marched in from the Barrens, but there is more vegetation south of the border than I remember...and this is a tree with a large hole about twenty feet up I once slept in..."

Beyond the first dozen or so pages were countless logs of patrols and descriptions of locations. Even with a cursory glance, he could tell much of it was repeated and surmised it was a traveler's log written during her rounds. The dates used a calendar he wasn't familiar with, though the progression indicated that there were indeed thousands of years between the first and last entries. Unlike the musty smell of the other books he head read that day - who doesn't smell books when reading them? - Unelia's book smelled like myrrh. Though the aroma hadn't been known among humans before the Third War, it spread like wildfire once it was discovered, and focusing on the words of the text was difficult with the nearly intoxicating smell.

"It would almost seem as though...I've stumbled in to Unelia's territory, so to speak," Johan said more to himself than his antler-bearing companion. "There's so much detail, and mostly about the areas I've been camping in for the past year. I do believe my path has crossed that of your patrols almost exactly."

Elindir sat patiently until Johan finished his inspection of the book, refraining from even clearing his throat or shifting in his spot in the corner. As Johan realized the significance of the gift, he switched to a more hushed tone. "Would it be correct to assume this is something I shouldn't thank Unelia for openly?"

"It would be correct," Elindir answered. "Don't worry; I will ensure that she knows of your gratitude. Gift giving is a normal behavior for all peoples, if I am not mistaken, though we usually don't like to make a spectacle of it."

"Right, of course not. It's more sincere on both ends that way," Johan replied. Closing the book and feeling the cover again, his vice itched at him again, and he couldn't help himself from prying for more information on his incredibly respectful, generous teacher from one who seemed to know her so well. "Elindir?"

"I am listening."

"Alright," Johan chortled. "Why did Unelia send this through you and not Uryndil?"

Elindir breathed deeply and became much more serious than Johan had seen him before. It was as though, despite his usual openness, he was unprepared for a question regarding his relationship with other elves. "Johan...I am very happy that you've successfully earned the trust of the others, or most of them. Please understand, though, that my people are not as direct as I am, and you should not assume that your interaction with me is the norm or an example of how you should interact with the others," the druid explained clinically while staring at the shelves. "I will answer your question, but you must promise me that you'll keep the answer to yourself. Is that a deal?"

"Deal," the human agreed. Internal conflict erupted within him, with both guilt at prying so much and possibly pushing the limits of his hosts' graciousness and an insatiable curiosity in regard to his teacher and mentor. "Whatever you say will stay between us unless you concede otherwise."

"Between us and Unelia herself," corrected the druid. "I won't say anything she'd take issue with you knowing, but don't ever mention such personal details in front of others." With a deep sigh that spurred Johan to lean forward in anticipation of a profound story, Elindir shared the what he treated like a well-guarded secret but sounded to the young human like the most mundane answer possible. "Unelia and Isurith are the daughters of my sister and her husband." He gave Johan such a serious look that the human realized Elindir truly thought this was some world-shattering piece of a puzzle.

"Forgive me, Elindir, but I think there is a culture difference here. Am I to understand that speaking of blood relations is a taboo in Kaldorei society?" Johan tried to use as respectful a tone as possible, wary of offending hosts to whom he owed so much.

"No, not so much. It goes back to what I mentioned before - there are a few, very few, here at the grove who are resentful of ending our isolationism." There was a slight, very slight tinge of resentment in Elindir's tone, though not toward Johan. "They would have us seal ourselves away here and wait for the outside world to wash over us like a tsunami, all the while praying that it wouldn't happen but taking no preventative action. And so, any attempts by you - a visitor - to grow closer to us personally would be viewed as a threat by such individuals." Crossing his legs in front of him, the druid hunched over and relaxed somewhat. "It is not your fault at all, but sometimes it's better to avoid conflict even when you know you aren't in the wrong."

Before they could continue, the familiar footsteps of Captain Ironwood approached, though she sounded as though she were barefoot. Elindir motioned for the tome and Johan quickly handed it over for the druid to conceal in the large pouch fastened to his belt. The Captain cleared her throat just out of view of the doorway, though she didn't enter with the two of them inside. In his effort to analyze and understand the entirety of his surroundings, Johan jumped to the conclusion that the others understood his 'lesson' in the library (it was mostly the two of them both reading silently for a few hours) to be a private affair.

"Priestess Lamynia has requested our visitor's presence," Captain Ironwood stated in a much more formal voice than he'd ever heard her speak. Perhaps due to her rank, she spoke more freely than the others even when donning her armor; now, she seemed rather formal despite still sounding friendly, much like Unelia did most of the time. "She has questions regarding the movements of our visitor's people, and has offered to answer any questions he may have remaining as well."

Elindir had already stood to leave. "No reason to keep everyone waiting. Let's go."

The library was almost right next to the central tree tower thing, and the walk was rather short. As they entered the main entryway in the hollowed out tree, Johan could spy around half a dozen other elves already making their way up the spiral ramp. The naturally grown structure was a feat that he had never seen in his own homeland; the floor of the ground floor rose at the back and became the ramp itself, leading out through an opening in the back wall and then looping around the trunk of the tree in an ascending circle. There was hardly enough time to admire the aerial view of the grove from the ramp due to Captain Ironwood's chattiness with the other women walking in front of them, and before Johan knew it they were in the second of the tower's three floors.

The room wasn't particularly large. The ceiling was as high as Isurith was tall, and she and another titanic, unfriendly warrior with green hair he knew as Gwynneth were leaning low against the wall to his left. The six other elves were seated on woven mats in front of them and Johan realized he hadn't seen the group before. There were three more women seated right next to the entryway on the right, leaving space further up on the right empty; Uryndil was nowhere to be seen, and there were two more women speaking to whom he assumed was the Priestess up front, though he couldn't see her.

As Elindir moved forward to sit in the empty space to the right, Johan's eye was caught by a sight he had never expected to see and knew he never would forget. Dressed as plainly civilian as the rest of the women was Unelia, fresh after the ride several hours ago and...well, certainly not appearing like the warrior of the night he had come to know.

She was standing with her hands clasped in front of her as she spoke to a blue-haired elf Johan may or may not have known, though he didn't care at that point. Dyed the same shade of dark indigo as her hair, the sleeveless, knee-length gown Unelia wore appeared to be brand new and despite its plain design, he almost had to strain his eyes to avoid staring in a way that would have been considered rude even among his own people. Winning at least one internal battle, he faltered when she turned to greet him and he didn't hear what she said. For the first time since he had known her, her hair wasn't tied back and it fell over her shoulders in curls he couldn't believe had been styled so well.

"I said, I hope you enjoyed your history lesson," Unelia said with a wry smile as the elf beside her covered her mouth for a laugh.

"What? Oh, right, it was very enlightening," Johan stammered as he blinked and came back to reality. "Especially the last book I perused through. Something your - that the druid, Elindir, showed to me."

With no hint of emotion, Unelia merely stared right in to Johan, saying nothing for a pregnant moment as the elf which may have had blue hair picked at a hangnail in absentminded frustration. Everyone else in the room seemed busy in conversation, not noticing the awkward silence between the visitor and the local who had first established contact with him. Unelia cleared her throat - she had a strange habit of doing that despite not appearing to have any sinus problems - and spoke quietly.

"I'm honored for you to have it, Thero'shan," she replied demurely, using a title he knew to be one of great respect from a teacher to a student.

There was no question that Johan respected the person responsible for teaching him immensely, and he did his best to view her just as that - his kind teacher and perhaps sincere if distant friend, and nothing more. But for reasons he didn't quite understand himself and chalked up to his age, he let loose with a comment he didn't realize the gravity of until it left his mouth.

"The aroma of the pages is like myrrh," he said without realizing he was venturing into the territory of personal topics. "Its the same aroma I noticed on you if you walk past quickly." No sooner had he pronounced the word than had his eyes grown wide in astonishment at what he had said. And no sooner had his eyes grown wide than had hers grown even wider. Her cheeks flushed the same color that her ears had before (he couldn't see her ears due to her hair) and almost seemed to meld with her facial tattoos.

She opened her mouth slightly to say something, looking absolutely lost as if she couldn't find the words. The expression was one which seemed out of character for her, and neither of them spoke until the elf with a hangnail finished picking at it.

"I guess I'll have to take a whole glaive to this thing later," the blue haired elf complained under her breath. "Unelia, we should go take a mat before anyone else arrives." Taking the silent archer by the arm, she turned to the silent human and didn't seem to sense any of the stillness in the air between them. "Men sit over where Elindir is sitting, visitor," the oblivious elf said cordially as she led Unelia away.

Thankful that the awkwardness had been staved off, Johan hurried to sit next to Elindir just as the leader of the entire community came into view. The two elves who had been speaking to her earlier sat on smaller stools to each side of the Priestess Lamynia's chair, the silver chains hanging loosely around their heads matching hers in style though not in ornateness. They all wore matching white gowns that seemed to shine silver in the bit of moonlight that shown in through the open entryway, matching the streaks in Lamynia's otherwise phlox (a new color Johan had learned) hair.

Though her eyelids were only half open, she exuded not the tiniest hint of arrogance or haughtiness. Instead, the Priestess appeared to be caught somewhere halfway between the room in the tree tower and deep thoughts about the universe, much like how Johan often found himself. Rather than the distinctive staff he had seen sketched in Unelia's tome, Lamynia loosely held a simple wand in one hand, rhythmically lifting it up and down every few seconds in a motion that was soothing to watch. She blinked slowly and finally opened her eyes a bit wider as she seemed to focus on him.

When she spoke, she hypnotized everyone - Elindir included - with a voice that evoked images of benevolence in a way Johan was not yet articulate enough to describe. He couldn't even recall the entirety of her words later that night, but he knew he would remember their impact for years to come and he assumed that, given the trance like state the other elves seemed to enter into at the sound of her speech, she spoke to them all like this only rarely. She asked him questions - something none of the other elves had ever done

One of her two attendants whispered in her ear just before she began to speak in an ancient yet alert voice. "Greetings, pilgrim...I trust you've been welcomed to our sacred grove properly. How do you find yourself tonight?"

Mulling it over as if it were a trick question, Johan felt a bit self conscious as he failed to think of a more inspiring answer. "Well, I'm doing fine, thanks," he replied to the amusement of all save the two seething sentries opposite his spot. "Thank you so much for allowing me to visit; your home truly is impressive."

"Elune be praised for gifting us all with this visit," Lamynia replied, and the other elves murmured a communal reply that was too low for Johan to hear. "And you have found our corner of Nightsong Woods to your liking?"

"Very much so, priestess; you all preserve the nature of this place so well."

Lamynia hummed deep in her throat. "So I take it, then, that you have noticed no outlanders in the area?" she asked; her tone was casual, but the way that the others all leaned forward intently showed that the question was significant despite being early into the conversation. That Lamynia had referred to the 'outlanders' as if Johan wasn't one of them sent his mind racing, though he had no time to ponder what she meant to imply.

"Ah...no, all I have encountered are the natural denizens of the forest. I watched the last columns of troops march south a year ago."

Long phlox eyebrows bobbed, which was about the most animated and obvious show of interest he imagined would come from such an ancient being. "To where did you observe them marching?" she asked, mostly likely cutting to one of her main points. Her tone of voice didn't change, but the way that all the elves, even Isurith, leaned forward to hear his answer indicated as such.

"The Horde returned to the land they called Durotar, to the southeast, and the minotaurs the allied with moved straight south back to their plains. The Alliance retreated to Dustwallow Marsh, as they call it."

Murmurs rose but fell when one of Lamynia's eyebrows bobbed again. "And do they intend to remain there, as they promised?"

"Yes. I can tell you, having once been a member of the Alliance," Johan replied while ignoring Gwynneth's skeptical expression, "many of them are wary of your land. Their society teaches them to fear forests."

Only after he spoke did Johan realize that he'd referred to human society as 'theirs' and not 'ours.' If the people of the village were surprised then they didn't show it, though the thoughtful look on Lamynia's face indicated that his words had been taken to heart. The conversation skipped a beat as she considered his words, though not a soul in the meeting room attempted to interject during the brief silence.

In a way, he could feel her seriousness diminish after his previous answer; obviusly, troop movements were of great concern to their people. But Lamynia's lack of seriousness did not equal a lack of curiosity; the way she raised both eyebrows from the middle when she spoke next were evidence of that.

"How do the humans view our people?" Lamynia asked in an almost plodding voice that still kept everyone hanging on every word.

Subconsciously mimicking Elindir and stroking his much shorter facial hair, Johan paused despite having an answer ready; he didn't want to appear thoughtless. "Unfortunately, the humans display little interest in the Kaldorei beyond how relations - good or bad - with your people would affect _them_ ," he sighed, not realizing he also mimicked Lamynia's habit of referring to him as some sort of non-racial entity. "The prevailing attitude is that you're all feral and wild, and not entirely trustworthy."

Isurith audibly hissed at the answer from across the room, and Gwynneth's scowl almost burned its heat right into the human forester's face. Without even moving her head, Lamynia simply made the tilt of her gaze in the direction of the two tall sentries obvious and caused them to hang their heads low in apology for what night elves apparently considered an outburst.

Focusing her glassy, ethereal eyes back to Johan, Lamynia asked him what he already knew was coming. "How do _you_ view our people?"

This time, he couldn't force a fake pause. Johan had chosen to leave the Eastern Kingdoms behind just to live i. The land of the night elves; he was a Kaldorei-phile by all measures, and didn't need to feign knowledge of or interest in their ways.

"I believe that our planet would not exist were it not for your people's efforts. I truly, sincerely mean that. The rest of the world is ignorant of the fact that the Kaldorei defended the world from the Burning Legion not once but three times. The first time, you gave up the Well of Eternity and all the benefits it brought you for the sake of restoring the balance of nature. The dragonflights granted you immortality solely so you could protect the World Tree, Nordrassil, and with it the world itself. For thousands and thousands of years your people fulfilled that duty faithfully, giving up the joys you once knew before the Sundering to instead live lives of duty and an everlasting watch during the Long Vigil and the Emerald Dream. Then, when the time came, you all willingly sacrificed that blessing of immortality for the sake of the planet again, accepting that you will now experience natural death like the rest of us do after having likely forgotten what it even is.

"You chose to give up that immortality and grant the gift of continued existence to younger races such as my own despite them knowing next to nothing of your history and your sacrifices for all their sakes. You sacrificed your greatest gift to pass life on to the rest of us, all without expecting any sort of reward."

Inhaling after the monologue, he finished with one line he expected would express to them his respect. "I suppose you could say that I view your people somewhat positively."

All the elves broke into polite chuckles save Gwynneth; even Isurith smiled at the last comment, and Lamynia closed her eyes tightly in amusement for a moment. When she opened them again, she appeared to fully exist in the present, her attention with those in the room around her.

"It is true that we do not expect or demand any sort of recognition for our efforts," she explained cautiously. "That being said, we are all sincerely pleased that one such as yourself, raised so far from here, would be willing to not only learn about our ways but also reach out and even offer services that help us cope with the changing world around us. You are a friend of our community, and it is my hope that you will accept invitations to visit our grove and use our library again in the future.

"But...let us leave the heavier topics for now. You've helped us even via this small gathering; we have no access to the information you provide otherwise." Tilting her head slightly to one of her two attendants, Lamynia whispered a few words before the woman disappeared upstairs. "Come, now. Since you are the first guest to set foot here in one hundred centuries, it's only befitting that we all share a slightly heavier meal for once."

* * *

Everyone had dispersed once Priestess Lamynia had returned to her chambers atop the tree tower, returning to their nightly business though with much more enthusiasm in their movements than Johan was used to seeing from them. The time had passed so quickly that he was shocked when Captain Ironwood informed him that with dawn approaching in two hours, he would need to be returned to his campsite right away so he could sleep for the day. After his goodbyes with Elindir and accepting his travel bag back, Johan was led to the front where the sabre cats appeared to be lounging again.

This time, the three sentries who would accompany him out were Celonia, Tirith and Gwynneth. They were already suited up in their armor and preparing their sabres when Johan heard the familiar clearing of a throat behind him.

Spinning around, he saw Unelia in plainclothes again, though in a simple shirt and dress that were much less eye-catching than how she had been dressed earlier. She was clasping her hands in front of herself, and her demeanor seemed a bit more guarded than before, though he was more confused by how she'd managed to return to whichever tree served as her house and change her clothes so quickly.

"It is my hope that you will prepare well before the next meeting a week from now," she said blankly though with more head movement than was usual.

"Don't worry, Shan'do. I really appreciate the latest book I've borrowed. I doubt I'll be able to even put it down all week."

She smiled ever so slightly and whipped her head to the side, looking at the sabres as she appeared to fight against her smile growing even wider. Johan couldn't help but smile as well, finding the lack of formality that she displayed in the grove to be relaxing. As her hair waved in the air behind her back, the scent of myrrh reached his nose again. This time, it was overpowering as though Unelia had dumped far too much of the fragrance onto her hair and shirt, and Johan couldn't help but wonder why she would be wearing even more than before.

His train of confused thought was broken by a blindfold coming down over his face without warning and Gwynneth's uncouth voice.

"It's time to leave, outlander," she huffed impatiently as she tied the blindfold uncomfortably tight. "You're riding with Tirith."

As he mounted the sabre behind Tirith and felt none of the tension or urges he felt on the earlier ride with Unelia, he heard a voice like the wind just before the ancients guarding the entrance creaked through their movements.

"Fare well, Johan," Unelia whispered just loud enough for him to hear. "Please stay safe."

 **A/N: for the few who knew about our personal situation IRL, I'm happy to say that our son has been cured and was discharged from the hospital just an hour before posting this (I update from my mobile so it only takes two seconds). Cherish those you love - you never know how easy it could be to lose them.**


	5. Through Thick

Johan held the metal parts in his hands, an odd melancholy feeling running through him. He didn't quite feel like he was losing a friend, but it was certainly a goodbye to something which had literally saved his life.

The glossy oak of the butt of the rifle had been that night's kindling, and the aroma caused by the flames indicated that there was no turning back. He had mixed the gunpowder with the sand on the bank of a river in the ravine below the ledge where he had camped for the past few days. With time, the flow of the river might wash it away or mix it with the sand until it was no longer an anamoly on the land.

The metal parts he had disassembled were a whole other issue, though. Johan knew nothing of gunsmithing or mining, and didn't know how to dispose of the remains of the rifle he had used from his childhood village up through the Third War and even at the Battle of Mount Hyjal. Burying them would still leave the molded parts in the soil rather than rejoining the ores from whence they came.

As always, his teacher was ready with a solution.

"We can have the wisps reuse the iron at our grove," Unelia said as she drew his attention away from the parts. "I can ensure that you're supplied with enough arrows as a substitute."

"I wouldn't want to deplete your own stocks," he answered despite his deep appreciation for the offer. "Perhaps it would be better for your community if I learned to fashion arrows on my own."

The smile that spread across Unelia's face was the same one he saw whenever she had finally discovered a piece of information he didn't know, some form of knowledge she could impart on him as she observed him learning. That same smile, with the same appearance, but somehow with a warmer feeling. It wasn't his eyes that saw it, but he knew it was there. His natural curiosity increased even beyond its usual vastness, though he restrained himself from asking what had amused her so until she spoke.

"To give a gift is generous, but to share gifts means much more," she said in a controlled voice.

Despite the naivete he knew he possessed, Johan could tell that there was some other sort of meaning behind the words. Working hard to control feelings he brushed off as the impetuous urges of a youth, he didn't pursue the topic any further.

"I am honored that you'd extend such an offer," he admitted as formally as possible, though he knew a rare shyness must have shone through. That they were at his camp alone for only the second time caused him a great deal of nervousness that he couldn't explain. Before he could ask questions or even ruminate on his increasing heart rate any more, Unelia had already extended her hand for the iron rifle parts.

He reached to slide the small pieces of metal across the grass to where she was sitting as he normally did when sharing something - the elves did not seem to appreciate physical touch as much as humans did, and Johan noticed how even with each other they would often pass food or other objects along the ground rather than pluck them from each others' hands. Without even giving him a chance to react, she put her fingers into his palms and began collecting the parts on her own. Her sharp, claw-like fingernails danced across his skin and tickled in a way that human nails couldn't, though it was more the act that shocked him than the sensation. Not only was she initiating contact, but she also seemed so casual about it - until he felt one of her fingers twitch.

"I am honored that you accept," she answered politely, though when she spoke there was more activity in her face, more movement of her long, feral eyebrows than usual. He had never seen her like this before, but when she stood up to search through her travel gear, she behaved as though nothing was amiss. "For now, bring your bow. Guns are unfocused and cause too much noise; tonight, we're going to practice your aim with the instrument Elune intended all people to use." She had already pulled several arrows from her quiver by the time he stood up.

It had been three weeks since his first visit to the grove, and since then he had been allowed back in twice. Each time, he spent most of his time with Elindir and they read more than talked; rather than prattling in about history and belief in Elune's path, the old druid much preferred to allow the young forester to read on his own and then asked questions. Each time, he saw Unelia less than before, but the changes began to take place, and those stayed in his mind with a heavier impact.

Initially, Johan noticed the increased amount of myrrh she had begun wearing. Unelia's clothing seemed to be lightly dabbed with it, much of her jewelry seemed to have been rubbed in it, and he could vaguely smell it on her hair. It was almost excessive, like a woman who hadn't used perfumes in so long that she'd forgotten how much or how little to apply. He found it cute in a way, but there was still that voice in the back of his head asking rhetorically why she hadn't started doing that until he mentioned the scent of her millennia-old patrol log.

The fact that he could smell her hair at all was another change. Just like the end of the first visit before the blindfold came down, he noticed her frequently turning her head to the side quickly even when there wasn't anything interesting to look at, and she would often continue staring at boring things, leaving him to stand in front of her not knowing what to do. And because she would often approach him without anything to discuss - not reviews of what he had read, not epiphanies about his journey to emulate the way of Elune in his everyday life, not news about hazards or oddities the patrols had observed - he was often left wondering if she had lost interest in teaching him or was disappointed in the speed of his development.

So many questions he had never pondered before, and all of them were ones he didn't quite know how to ask. The young man's curiosity overrode his sense of restraint, and as he drew his bow and followed Unelia to the row of trees she had marked as a practice range, he tried to indulge his urge to pry.

"Shan'do?"

"You may use my name when not in public," she said in a pleasantly amused tone.

Her initial reaction only confused him more. She didn't appear bored or distracted now, and her statement perplexed him. If they weren't in public, did that mean they were in private? Wasn't that frowned upon in her culture, even between two friends? He wanted to ask, but feared she would think he were subtly hinting he wanted her to leave. Not wanting to spend much more time wondering, he tried to sate his curiosity in the most delicate way possible.

"Unelia...Sentinel patrols usually consist of three or four cavalrywomen, correct?"

Whipping him stiffly in the lower back with an arrow, she motioned for him to straighten his back when facing the target tree. "Of course, you know that!" she chuckled with an intonation like her uncle. It was perhaps the third time he had ever heard her laugh while talking, and the sound of her voice sent such a warmth running up his spine that he almost forgot how out of character it seemed. "You've observed us as much as we've observed you over the months."

His eyes widened along with a slightly embarrassed smirk as he practiced his aim. "You noticed that?"

"Yes, of course," she replied while standing to face him but turning her head toward the tree, mirroring his stance. "A good teacher notices much in those she mentors."

"Alright, let me gauge the accuracy of another observation," he chortled as he poked his elbows with the arrow, correcting his grip on his bow. "Hunting parties typically consist of four archers and a huntress for big game and two archers for small game, right?"

"Yes, though you're beyond the need to review such basic information," she quipped as he released his first arrow into the mark. She seemed oblivious to the direction he was steering the conversation in. "By now, learning the specific routes our patrols and parties take is in order; I'm sure the community will become even more accepting of you once you can scout and contribute to our sacred duty."

Johan snorted through his nose while grinning as she spoke. Her behavior seemed to make a little more sense, now. "Is that why you've been coming out here by yourself? Is this like training to function as a hunting pair?"

Fast enough to break his concentration, Unelia snapped her head from the target tree to him. "What?"

Holding his cool despite her reaction, he tried to quickly think of what had caused it. Elven hearing was remarkable, so it wasn't that she couldn't make out his words. Or was his pronunciation of Darnassian slipping? It didn't seem possible, considering how half his interactions with other people were in the language. What had put her off?

"Well, I mean, this is the second time you've visited me by yourself," he tried to reason as though it weren't the most significant topic on his mind. "That means you ventured outside the grove on your own. Does that mean I'm being trained in how your community works in pairs?"

Even without looking over to her, he noticed the movement in her neck as a deep gulp which only confounded him even more. Surely he must have done something wrong to garner such reactions; this wasn't Unelia at all. She continued staring at him to the point where he felt it rude not to return his teacher's gaze. Yet when he turned his head to see her, she turned her head back toward the target tree in front of them again. He felt as though this was some sort of a secret psychological trial to see how he would deal with atypical behavior on the part of an ally, and looked back at the tree as though it hadn't happened.

"Y-yes, exactly," she stuttered. For the very first time. All of the elves were creatures of consistency, Unelia included, and the night just kept getting weirder and weirder. "Pair work. That's why we...you're working on your aim."

Feeling reassured that he hadn't offended her, Johan notched a second arrow and relaxed as he chatted. "Well, I do hope I'm improving. I've been studying the sketches of the hunting grounds in the journal your uncle gave me and as engaging as it is, it's also a lot of information to remember." The second arrow literally split the first as he hit exactly on the mark twice in a row.

"How was that?" he asked, fishing for a compliment. When she said nothing, he turned and saw her staring at the tree. "Did I hit the wrong mark?"

There was a long pause where she didn't speak, and he almost repeated his question until she cut him off. "What?" she asked again, despite rarely ever asking him anything. It was as though her mind was focused on something other than her visit, once again fueling his suspicion that she was possibly losing interest in their exchange.

"My shot, I mean."

"Oh...it was fantastic. I mean, it was adequa - accurate." She cleared her throat and without looking at him, grabbed the shaft and the drawstring and roughly adjusted the bow's position. "Hold it higher," she ordered with a sudden stiffness that contrasted with the lost expression she wore literally just a single sentence ago.

"Right, sorry," he apologized. As he drew the third arrow, he took time aiming. "I really am thankful for the gift, even if I didn't speak much of it until now," he said without expecting nor receiving a reply from his obviously preoccupied companion. "Sometimes I just enjoy looking at the ink in the pages. I'm not sure what sort of procedure your people use for producing it, but when I hold it under the moonlight just right, it shines the same shade of violet-blue as your tattoos."

There was a drawn out silence both before and after Johan released his third arrow, and it landed slightly off the mark this time. He continued holding his bow between himself and Unelia, assuming that he may have been boring her but feeling uncomfortable with the silence. He only had a split second before he felt a force pulling his bow down ever so slightly and his concentration was shattered.

:: _SNIFF_ ::

"Whoa!" he yelped at the sensation of a nose and an upper lip pressed to the skin just below his ear. His pulse soared as he felt a strange heat on his neck that he wasn't used to.

Squeezing his bow in his hands, he faced Unelia just as he saw her pulling her head back, the rather nervous behavior she had displayed before entirely gone. With her fingers still curled around the bow, she stood with the muscles in her arm appearing relaxed and her entire demeanor seemed much more loosened up than usual. She was breathing through her mouth and the hot air tickled his own, the intensity of her gaze forcing him to hold still. The distant but still familiar sensation of blood rushing downward over his stomach warmed him, and his mind raced out of his control.

Though he didn't look down, he could feel her chest heaving as she inhaled as deeply as he was, and he suddenly found himself fighting the inexplicable urge to throw his bow to the side. Despite the attractiveness of the elves, Johan's fascination with their culture, belief in their religion and happiness whenever they temporarily relieved him of his isolation had largely blinded him to it so far. Yet as he could hear the flow of every vein and capillary in his body, he was suddenly very aware that Unelia was not simply an admirable person but an admirable woman. A woman who also happened to have a hypnotic sort of beauty he had forced himself to ignore before.

He felt a foot brush against his though he heard no scrape of her boot against the ground and realized that his sense of hearing had become temporarily impaired. It didn't matter considering that neither of them were speaking, and it was only the bright flash of colors signaling the activity of the two sprite darters that grounded student and teacher both. Though his focus was broken, he was very much aware when she slid her hands over his on the bow and stepped right up against him, when she tilted her head to the side and looked at him through narrowed eyes, when began to lean forward...

Silver flashed before his eyes as Unelia blinked, appearing to break out of the same stupor he had found himself in. His desire to cast the bow aside seemed to lose dominance just at the same time that he felt her step back from him, loosening her grip on the bow. The sprite darters continued fluttering around them and their ethereal croaks rang through the camp as they tried in vain to attract Unelia's attention.

"I'm sorry, Unelia," Johan apologized without knowing what he was even saying. "I don't know what came over me..."

Those two glowing eyes looked back at her travel bag at the same time her hands rose and then dangled in front of her as though she didn't know what to do with them. She started shaking her head though it didn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular, and as her breathing returned to normal the sound was replaced by croaks and the rustling of large animals in the distance.

"No, you didn't mean...I started to..." Unelia looked back at him like a child that had been caught stealing, and his own confidence was bruised as his teacher - the woman he looked up to more than anyone else - appeared lost and unsure of herself. "My behavior was...I've made a mistake."

All grace leaving her, she stumbled as she spun around awkwardly and tried to collect her belongings into her travel bag, dropping three arrows in the process. One of the little dragons landed in front of Johan, frantically performing some sort of a spinning dance in an attempt to communicate, though he had not spent enough time interacting with the creatures to understand what it wanted. His attention was unstoppably focused on Unelia now, his sole goal to understand what had just happened and to solve what he wasn't even sure was a problem.

"What's a mistake?" he asked with some nervousness in his voice. "Did I fail...oh...I've upset you-"

"No! No, that's not it," Unelia stammered while her drinking cup, flint and tinder materials and whetstone tumbled from her suddenly clumsy hands.

They both stopped when the two dragons began croaking in unison, their tones more shrill. Unelia's long, sensitive ears twitched and Johan regained enough lucidity to remain silent and wait for her cue. Her jaw dropped open as she rotated in the middle of the camp, her movements implying that there was something very wrong. The sprite darters quieted down and she gave Johan a very serious, urgent expression.

"Follow me!" she rasped quickly, the panic in her voice another bizarre behavior he had never seen from her before. "The local furbolg tribe...they've been corrupted! Follow me exactly!"

Leaving everything at the camp behind save her dagger and his bow, they ran. The sprite darters flew ahead of them as if to lead the way, and Johan did his best to keep up. Living in the woods as a nomad for a year had put him in the best shape of his life, but he was no elf, and he knew that Unelia was intentionally slowing herself down for his sake. Winding around boulders, bushes and tree trunks and weaving under low branches, they ran further, and further still, right along the cliff leading down to the river which was below by an increasingly high drop.

Behind them, the rustling had become a series of heavy footsteps and roars. Johan knew that furbolgs were large and there was no way they should have been able to keep up.

"Why aren't they slowing down?" he asked as his throat turned raw, focus on keeping up with Unelia doing a surprisingly good job of staving off the mortal terror that should have gripped him.

"They're corrupted with fel magic - their bodies will be pushed beyond the point of physical strain!" she panted in between breaths as she tossed her arrows. "Lose your bow; there's no use now! There's at least six of them!"

Doing as he was told, Johan pumped his legs even faster and was encouraged when she sped up to adjust to the new speed. The tree trunks were whizzing by so fast that he could almost hear the wind whipping each time they passed one, and Unelia appeared to choose those with the narrowest spaces in between.

Realizing that they were unarmed aside from her single dagger, the fear caught up with him. He had trained hard and even sparred with her and the others before, but there was no way the two of them could fight six of the bear people with a single blade. For an entire year he had roamed the woods without issue, successfully avoiding the wolves and giant spiders; now the two of them had certainly found trouble, and the fact that Unelia, a brave warrior who once told him she remembered the War of the Ancients, was also fleeing wasn't a good sign.

They bounded up the ascending landscape as the river roared below in the ravine just as loudly as the furbolgs. The purplewoods still lined each side of the ravine and the break in the canopy above provided some moonlight for Johan to see that there was no escape: the edge of the cliff above the ravine simply went on like that for miles, it seemed, with nowhere to hide and no signs of Unelia's fellow Kaldorei.

"Unelia, for how long will we keep running this way?"

"Trust in my command!" she shouted over her shoulder. "I never sketched this part of the forest, but I know it!"

As if the cries of the furbolgs wasn't enough, something far more unsettling filled the air. Something evil, something demonic, something he remembered from the Third War. Crazed, hideous laughter echoed between the trees, cackling like a mentally ill person. The voice babbled strange gibberish that wasn't any language Johan had heard, and it reminded him of a cross between the insane man kept in a medical bed at his aunt and uncle's village and nightmares from his childhood.

"Satyr!" he shouted in exhaustion toward Unelia.

"I know, don't worry!" she shouted back, her fatigue showing through her voice as well. "They can't climb! There's a purplewood up here - just follow me!"

There, dead ahead, was what she spoke of: a massive, gnarled tree at least forty feet tall stood away from the ravine slightly. The side of it looked damaged as though it had been ripped by an ancient storm, and the cuts into the side ran from bottom to top. An exceptionally long branch stretched out over the ravine, meeting with the branch of a tall tree on the other side. Her plan must have been to climb the tree, balance on the branch across the river and...jump on to another branch?!

Breaking out into a sprint, the pair burned a figurative trail of fire the last fifty yards over to the gnarled purplewood. The sprite darters hovered over the river and croaked tauntingly at their pursuers, as though they were trying to draw the attention of the furbolgs. Furious roars from behind insinuated that the sprite darters had succeeded, and by the time Unelia had already leapt ten feet up the trunk, the cries of the bear people sounded further behind.

"Thero'shan!" Unelia cried out without looking down as she slowed down the pace of her ascent. "It's been more than a month since I watched you climb; this is your test!"

Though he still felt unworthy of the title, Johan tried to use her encouragement as fuel, repeating in his mind that a warrior of the night over ten thousand years old had put her faith in him. If she believed he could live through this, then he knew he could. Ignoring the surging terror at the fact that he was scaling a tree literally taller than a castle, Johan kept his gaze focused up toward the long branch in question.

It wasn't long before the first arrow stuck into the trunk next to him.

"Yeow!" he yipped as a second whizzed past the trunk.

"Spiral as you climb!" Unelia instructed, much of her former confidence now returning to her voice. "Don't give them an easy target!"

They were almost to the forty foot high branch that would be their ticket across the river. The crackle of fel magic erupted behind them, and the sprite darters hissed angrily as some sort of battle between them and the satyr ensued. More arrows whizzed by as he looked up and saw Unelia reaching from the trunk they were climbing to the branch, and he fought with every ounce of willpower not to focus on how high up they were. He jumped as an arrow hit its mark, tearing a hole in the midway point of Unelia's cape in the process.

"Tear the rest of it for me!" she shouted as she looped one leg over the branch.

Once he grabbed ahold of a loose fold of cloth, he carefully tore it off and cast it to the ground. She swiveled around on the branch and reached a hand to help him up, and more quickly than he even realized, he found himself standing up on the branch with her. More arrows prevented him from looking down, though from the corner of his eye he could detect flashes of light from the battle against the satyr below.

To balance on the branch, despite its thickness, was far beyond daunting, and the adrenaline rush almost caused him to swoon. Following her lead, he put one foot in front of the other with his hands out, ignoring the river far below.

It was only when Unelia swooned that Johan knew something was very wrong.

"Hey! Watch out!" he cried out as he reached a hand forward to steady her.

Before she began to tip over, he saw the trickle of blue liquid running down a small gap in the armor over her back that he recognized as a mild tranquilizer. The arrow that had failed to injure her must have pricked her skin enough to inject the chemical in that impossibly small gap - a feat even many elves wouldn't have been capable of themselves.

"Keep going," Unelia groaned as she bent over on the branch. "That's an order." Her voice lost not only the nervousness from the camp but also the commanding confidence from a minute before.

Everything happened in slow motion. Just at the exact moment that Johan felt himself break inside, Unelia swooned, and her foot slid off the branch. Her body weight leaned in that direction, and he reached to grab her hand just as it flew upward with the downward sway of her body.

"Your hand!" Johan urged with a frantic tone as he swiped at the air just an inch too far. "Unelia, reach your hand toward the branch!"

Rather than fall straight down, her limp body sank to the side, the tranquilizer lacking the strength to rob her of consciousness but just powerful enough to fuddle her coordination. She slapped her hand ineffectively on the thick branch as the rest of her body slipped below, tumbling toward the rushing waters.

Johan dropped himself stomach-down onto the branch, screaming her name as he reached out in futility. For one brief second, those silver eyes met his light blues, and for the first time he saw a horrible, soul-killing sight. Unelia Swiftfoot, the archer and respected member of the Sisterhood of Elune, the sole person responsible for reaching out to him and welcoming him in to the world of the night elves without seeking any benefit of her own, was afraid. Through her eyes, her true, deep fear revealed itself to him, and the person who always had the answers didn't know what to do. He had never felt more lost in all his life, never more guilty for having been unable to help the one who had helped him so much when she needed it the most.

Another second and she was under. A sickening snap reached his ears high on the branch as bones were broken, and her torso bounced violently against the rocks jutting up from the riverbed. Unelia's entire body sank beneath the surface, and a red stain was pushed down the river.

There were no thoughts; he didn't need them. Ignoring the arrows and frustrated cries of the furbolgs, Johan took a deep breath and dove.


	6. And Thin

The strength of the river was intimidating. While it couldn't quite be described as 'roaring,' it certainly flowed with enough force to move a strong adult person or a medium-sized animal. That Johan had even managed to avoid the rocks wheh breaking the surface was a minor miracle, but dodging the others lining the riverbed prevented him from ruminating on the matter much more.

The rushing water drowned out the sounds of the furbolgs above, though he could hear that the splashes of the arrows the bear people shot were erupting further and further away, and the river combined with his swimming put such a distance between them that his pursuers eventually seemed to give up. Even the sounds of the sprite darters disenchanting the foul curses of the satyr disappeared, and the young man was left with nothing but the sound of the water and his own soul-crushing, absolutely suffocating panic of not knowing if Unelia was still breathing while submerged or not.

The trees above the ravine whizzed by even faster as his strokes became frantic and unfocused. Whenever he dove beneath the surface, bubbles and aquatic vegetation obscured his view and as he whipped his head above the water, he felt the muscles in the back of his neck pull just as water filled his left ear. But on he swam.

And swam.

And swam.

He didn't even have time to think back to Unelia's travel log he had abandoned back at the camp. Every stretch of the ravine and the canopy above looked the same, and he didn't know if the river was taking him closer to or further away from civilization.

And then hope came back to life. Not too far ahead he saw a grasping purple hand break the surface of the water, reaching out for anything that would pull her up. A second wind propelled Johan forward, and he dove underneath again as he saw streams of blood underwater trailing behind a weakly thrashing armored body with long, purple hair. He pulled himself along the riverbed until he was close enough to grab her by the midsection and launched them both to the bank, finally breaking through the surface again.

Panic still gripped him, but there was a sense of determination as what little he had learned of field medicine and first aid during the war kicked in. Remembering the snapping sound he heard when she first hit the rocks, he lifted her in his arms before she could even try to stand. Although Unelia was still an inch or so taller than he, she was of much slighter build and Johan had no trouble carrying her to a soft patch of grass and lowering her down on her back. It was then that he saw she was still breathing and conscious but the extent of her injuries overwhelmed any comfort that may have brought.

Most of the external bleeding was at her feet. The soles of her metal boots had broken off entirely, and the topside of her left boot was missing as well, revealing a series of deep cuts. Both feet were swollen as well as her left ankle from what he could tell, and there was similar bruising on her unarmored thighs and upper arms.

The bruises on her now exposed midriff, however, were of most concern. Johan was no medic, but he was experienced enough to know that one of Unelia's ribs were broken. Without even asking permission, he broke every rule of propriety in the new culture he had adopted and ran a hand across her stomach, feeling around the swelling when she groaned in pain.

"That's a rupture," he murmured in a voice so controlled that he would even have impressed himself had the situation not been so dire. "You're bleeding internally."

"I know," she answered with an incredibly bizarre detachment from her own wounds. "I can sense that it's small...but it will become more severe...with time."

For reasons he would never be able to explain, her calmness only caused him to panic more as realization of how serious her injuries were hit him like a stampeding kodo. Johan liked some of his family members, but most of them were dead and he had made peace with that. He had always preferred being alone with his books and his thoughts to the company of others. Yet now, the young loner understood how attached he had grown to this woman who had given him so much. A person he respected more than any other, a person who looked after him in a way nobody ever had, a person he had a strong desire to reciprocate to and look after as well, a person who he could no longer deny was more than a simple companion to him was slipping away before his very eyes. Her breathing was shallow and though her eyes weren't drifting off, the normal bright silver glow faded way so much that he could discern the crystal blue irises from the silver pupils that were the source of the glow. He had never seen this on an elf before.

"Unelia...the Sisterhood...Priestess Lamynia taught you!" he stammered as his thoughts raced more quickly than his lips could move. "You know how to heal...the natural magic of the balance, you can use it!" Without thinking, he took one of her hands in his, shaking her shoulder lightly as a passionate hope he could no longer contain drove him. "You can slow the pace of the damage long enough for me to take you to the grove! The Priestess and her assistants can complete the task from there!"

There was a serene smile on Unelia's face, but it wasn't at his words of encouragement. She was staring straight up through the canopy, and when Johan looked up he saw that the moon was directly overhead. He turned back to her as his heart pounded in his chest so hard he thought it would rupture too, his mind becoming overwhelmed by the sense of urgency.

"Unelia, we have to go - there isn't much time!" He squeezed her hand again and tried to give her the most reassuring look he could. "You need to start the healing process before we leave!"

She didn't squeeze back. And it was then that the sole person in the world he truly cared for, the person who appeared in his dreams more often than he liked to admit, dashed the hope that he felt was keeping them both alive.

"It's not possible," she gurgled through her bloody teeth as she shook her head gently. "My injuries are too severe for me to travel...my healing cannot prevent further internal bleeding...from the effort."

The temperature of his head was increasing in a way that disoriented him, and his pulse thumped even more strongly as all rational thought left him. "I'll carry you!" Johan practically yelled, his strong rejection of her words trying to wake him from this nightmare. "You're light, and the long trek is what I've been training for! You will live, I promise!"

"You can't," she replied weakly. "I will slow your progress...the sprite darters, Upin and Ipin, will lead the furbolgs away...but carrying me could delay you enough for them to regroup-"

"Unelia, what are you saying! If I don't carry you and you can't walk - how! What else can we do!"

Finally squeezing his hand back this time to console him, Unelia struggled through another shallow breath as she swallowed her own blood to speak. "Thero'shan...it is time for your final lesson..."

His lungs were suffocated as his entire body felt paralyzed for a moment. He couldn't move a muscle, frozen in place as her intention dawned on him. He already knew what she wanted to say before she said it.

"I have taught you our beliefs about life..." She inhaled deeply and stared at the moon again. The serenity was gone, but she still appeared insistent on finishing what she had begun to say. "Now it is time for you to learn what Elune teaches about death."

Every ounce of his willpower fought against his logic. Unelia was his companion, his helper, a kind soul who had taken him under her wing by her own volition. He should listen to her patiently. He should do what she asked. Yet he found the control within him to shake his had rapidly, rejecting her words before they even exited her increasingly quivering lips.

"For so long, our people were immortal. Death and illness were unknown to us save in war...and we fought many enemies for the sake of fulfilling our sacred duty. We became not wiser...but more obstinate and resistant to change. But this change...mortality...is for the better. It is by knowing death that...we can value life."

Reaching up with her free hand, she ran her palm up his cheek until the tips of her fingers could tangle with his hair. Her hand was weak but steady, and Johan was internally assaulted with feelings entirely unfamiliar in reaction to her touch.

"We knew of death once," she whispered while stroking his cheek with her thumb. "I was there before the Sundering...but the gift of the dragonflights spoiled us. Now, as we rightfully join the ranks of the mortal world with the threat of the Legion gone...we must learn to accept the inevitable fate of all once more. And when we do, those who have fulfilled their duties in life...those who strove to do what was right and leave a positive mark on the world...we believe such people join the other heroines of the past among the stars." She coughed, fighting to finish what she was saying. "At night, those who live on gaze at the skies and remember...all of those who have been lost and all the good they did..."

Unelia's eyes grew wide, and despite the sadness and panic swelling within him, Johan knew she was fully conscious and lucid as she spoke.

"I hope you will remember me, Johan," she whispered with a true sadness mixed with hope in her voice, but much less fear than she had before. "And I hope that...one day, we will join each other among the stars."

Physical numbness running through his skin clashed with the explosion of what he felt but could not label beside him. He tried to focus on those caring eyes as they shone up at him, but he lost focus as his vision became blurred. Droplets of water pelted her face, yet the air was still and there was no rain. Wiping his tears away with a trembling hand, Johan continued shaking his head.

"I hope for that too," he whispered, fearing that he would lose control were he to speak out loud. "But not now. Not yet. You taught me...you said that Elune does not wish death upon the living without cause...Unelia, you have to try, please!"

"Carrying me will put your life in danger," she whispered as her voice grew distant. "I cannot allow any harm to come to you..." As Unelia's voice trailed off, she let her hand drop from his face to her side. He hadn't even noticed her unsheathing his dagger until she pushed the hilt into his hand. "I will not survive, Johan...my injuries are too severe. I can't allow you to take me...I would put your life at risk. All I ask is that you ensure that the demonic-"

"No!" he shouted as he flung her dagger into the river. "I'm not leaving without you! If you truly wish that when we join the stars, we join together, then it will be tonight!" Cradling her head and legs beneath his arms, he lifted her up and began to move. "Whether you heal yourself or not, I will be right here, with you, the entire way!"

Looking up to the sky in desperation, Johan tried to estimate the location of her grove as he navigated by the stars. Though he wasn't intended to find it on his own - they continued blindfolding him every time - he knew the way from Unelia's travel log. Of all the stories and subjects contained therein, the most detailed was that of all the paths to the home she had dwelled in for ten thousand years. Every barrier to entry, every deadly trap to keep enemies out, every false path to mislead outsiders had been mapped out with reference to the stars at various times of year. He knew the reason the log was their secret, even if she hadn't been able to tell him out loud.

"I will bleed to death before we arrive, Johan," Unelia protested weakly but insistently. "Your efforts will be for naught...and you will still be at risk..."

"I'll accept the risk!" he exclaimed with a shaken, unstable voice. "Elune smiles on those who bear the burdens of others. I'm sorry, Unelia, but I won't leave you, not even if you order me to, not now..." He sucked in a deep breath, choking on the last few tears as a second adrenaline rush pushed him to both run and ramble. "Even if you die, I'll be with you all the way."

As he made his way up an embankment that lead to a less steep incline, making his way out of the ravine, Unelia inadvertently dug her nails into the back of his neck. She clutched her stomach with her other hand, wincing in pain despite her visible exhaustion.

"You won't bleed to death if you'd just heal yourself!" Johan yelled at her in a combination of sadness and anger. "Unelia, please!"

"Shhhh...your voice will alert the furbolgs..." she whispered up into his ear, though he was too panicked for the urges he had experienced earlier that night to be felt. "You...can escape...you can be safe...Upin and Ipin will find you...Johan, please..."

"Heal yourself," he ordered firmly despite a few more tears running down his cheek as he sprinted between the trees. "I promise, I will help you! We will be safe, but you have to try!"

He almost stumbled as he skidded down a hill and wrenched his quadriceps to stay upright, underestimating its steepness in a darker part of the forest. The canopy overhead cut them off from the stars completely, and the rapidly disappearing glow from her eyes provided him with little light. Once he hit level ground running again, she groaned but lied limp in his arms.

"If I can provide you some solace...in my limited time...I will do so," she breathed out with her weakening voice. "I will heal as much as I can...but understand that I do this for you...not myself..."

"Take care of yourself and you'll be helping both of us." His tone held more resolve in reaction to the glow from her hands the same silver-blue hue as the moonlight, and there was a slight flicker from her eyes as the same colored glow became only slightly stronger. The rhythm of her breathing against his chest as he ran grew stronger, and despite every muscle in his body aching, he accelerated.

In the darkness, he could see a straight stretch of land between the enormous purplewoods all around them. Far, far off in the distance he could barely make out the shape of a rock formation in a clearing she had marked on her travel log. He had followed it many times, and knew that from there they could reach the grove in a few hours. Despite never having been there on his own, he had memorized those parts of the log most intently, and he repeated within himself that they could make it unscathed and in time for the Priestess to finish healing Unelia if he ran nonstop.

He would rip his own body apart sprinting the entire way if he had to. If her life depended on it, he'd make sure that his would too.

* * *

All was silent in the nameless grove in the last quarter of the night. While some of the locals were fulfilling their nightly duties and tasks - mending clothing, preparing food, tending to the grounds - an abnormal number were crowded around the small gazebo that marked the front sentry outpost bearing the official seal of the Sentinel Army, the only sign that the community was known to anyone outside their tree lined walls. Several of the nightsabres were prepped for an emergency patrol that night, and it took all the patience the two green haired, nearly identical looking sentries guarding the only entry and exit possessed to quell the numerous questions their fellow inhabitants had about their missing shield sister. Their people were normally so stoic, but then again their people were so inexperienced with death and loss that the sudden disappearance of one of their own was reason enough for their normal rules of restraining their feelings outwardly to be bent.

When the creaking of the ancients signaled that someone was entering their village, the small crowd of off-duty warriors filed out of the gazebo, only pausing in the face of the raised hand of an on-duty sentry. Velonia motioned for her mother to help guard exit as well, needing Celonia's assistance in both calming down the others and monitoring the entryway for whoever had spoken the password.

Yet the gasps of the off duty sisters were not ones of relief. Turning toward the entrance, the silhouette of a man much shorter than the few any of them had ever met lurched in on stiff legs with a limp figure cradled in his arms. Velonia literally held her arms out and physically barred the others from rushing forward to ask a hundred questions without any sense of order or propriety, leaving her mother to handle the obvious crisis situation unfolding.

Johan's haggard, bloodshot eyes met Celonia's bright silvers and he was relieved to see that she wasn't upset despite him just violating a major rule he would have to account for later. Before she even spoke, she took Unelia from the young human that was clearly beyond exhaustion and spoke the password that he wasn't supposed to have known so the ancients would close the entrance again. Relieved of his physical burden, Johan leaned against a tree trunk at the very outer edge of the circular grove, thankful that Velonia was still holding back the clamoring crowd.

Watching as Celonia carried Unelia toward the central tree tower, Johan breathed a sigh of relief. Unelia had lost consciousness half an hour ago, but his reverence for Priestess Lamynia filled him with such hope that he was certain his teacher would be alright. Any other concerns could wait for later.

Or so he thought.

" **Tor ilisar'thera'nal**!" screamed Isurith just as Johan saw a sharp nailed hand that looked more like a claw swiping through the air toward his face.

Against all odds, he ducked just in time for the long, claw like nails to cut harmlessly through the air above his head, though in the process he stumbled and fell to the ground as Isurith's titanic frame crashed into him. Completely worn out from the several hour sprint, Johan could only curl into a ball as 300 pounds of pissed off night elf female pinned him down and scrabbled at his neck in an effort to strangle him.

"Isurith, stop!" cried Niorith as she put the tallest person in the grove in a sleeper hold. "The night elves do not assume the worst of a proven friend - ow!" Isurith had already dug her nails into Niorith's arm by the time Velonia had approached. "Her arms!" Niorith commanded Velonia as she wrapped her own arms behind Isurith's knee and hooked her leg to pull her up. "Restrain her arms!"

Falling into action despite being off duty, it took four more plainclothes bystanders to pin Unelia's rabid sister to the ground, all of them wincing at the improprietous curses flowing from her mouth defiantly. Niorith, who was in charge of internal security within the grove, directed them somewhere behind the scattered tree hovels, though she was soon running back to Johan just as he looked up to see Gwynneth in Isurith's place. The furious Amazon stood over him, her fists on her hips as she glared down without helping him up. Before he could even rise to a sitting position, she actually spoke to him directly for the very first time since he'd known her.

"Know that whatever happens, _you_ are personally responsible!" she hissed with so much hate that Johan thought she must be a harpy in disguise. "Everything was fine befor-"

"That's enough!" barked Niorith as she grabbed the woman by the arm and yanked her over. "Back off or you're under arrest as well!"

Gwynneth's anger found a new target as she held an expression of such betrayal that Johan almost felt it along with the otherwise unpleasant and unsympathetic giantess. "Wha - he broke out laws! He stole our password and has compromised the security of us all! HE hurt our sister, HE has been trying to tempt her away-"

Niorith grabbed Gwynneth by the throat with one hand and rested her other on the hilt of her tonfa. "By the Goddess, I swore I would uphold the laws of our people, and if you level any more accusations without evidence you will suffer the punishment of false witness!" In a reversal of attitude that even the most unstable of humans might not display, the fight and defiance left Gwynneth's entire demeanor and she gulped visibly. "Back. Off." Niorith's order came out as a growl and she practically shoved the decidedly un-jolly greenheaded Gwynneth back, continuing to stare her down as she stormed off in the company of two more elves who shot Johan dirty looks.

Two more bystanders and a heavily armored sentry remained behind, looking at the human forester with mixtures of suspicion and sympathy, appearing to be uncertain of whether he was truly to blame.

His head was spinning, but Johan was still gripped by a sense of persecution. All that had transpired had done so before he had even spoken a single word in his defense.

Forcing himself to his feet, he could feel that every muscle in his arm was torn from holding Unelia for so long, and both of his thighs cramped up. Niorith strode over to him, standing with her arms loose at her sides with a blank stare. Johan felt she wanted to believe whatever he said but was also doubtful after Isurith's accusation.

"Furbolgs," he panted in exasperation, just wanting the truth to be told. "They're corrupted...there was a satyr." Niorith was nodding as though she wanted him to continue, waves of caution, understanding and concern washing over her face. "The sprites are out there...and...she fell. We climbed a tree to escape, and they shot her. She hit the rocks..." Johan stopped himself for a moment as the memory threatened to break him once more, not wanting to appear weak in front of members of a warrior society.

"Please...I know that outlanders may not stay overnight," he begged Niorith without pretense. "Unelia is my...she's done so much for me. Niorith, please - you know me, you know I would never do anything against your people. You can intercede...I just want to stay until I'm sure Unelia is alright. I-"

"Trusted friend," she began formally as she cut him off. "You don't need to explain that part to me; Captain Ironwood will return from the first sweep of her search party shortly. She will collect any necessary information from you."

Relief eased the pain both inside and out as the meaning of her words sank in. "So...that means I will be able to stay? For a time?"

Niorith shifted uncomfortably as she stood, giving him the feeling that she was about to say something she'd prefer not to. "Johan...you displayed knowledge of our location and our secret password, entered our sacred grove without permission, and walked in with a fatally injured member of the Sisterhood of Elune with a story about the corruption of a previously friendly furbolg tribe."

This time, it was Johan who gulped as anxiety over what would come next gripped him.

"You aren't simply staying for the moment...you aren't allowed to leave."


	7. Limbo

It had been three nights since Johan had helplessly watched as Unelia nearly died on the rocks unerneath the surface of the river, rushed her back to the grove and saw her carried away by the rest of the locals without so much as a word of explanation or consolation. It had also been three nights since Niorith, acting as the highest ranking representative of the Sentinel Army inside the grove during Maya's foray outside, quarantined Johan in the men's quarters under suspicion of culpability in Unelia's accident. If he had ever doubted the patience and slowness to act of the elves before due to the animated reactions of some, he no longer did so then.

Elindir and Uryndil were the only people he saw consistently during those three nights. Velonia stopped by twice to inform Johan and Elindir both of Unelia's condition, and Celonia had come for the third update. He mistook Celonia for her daughter at first despite the incredible age difference. It seemed that, with a population of only a hundred thousand, the night elves had a lower genetic diversity than humans or orcs, and especially within families there wasn't a wide variation in facial features. Even the tough, surly Isurith just looked like a taller carbon copy of Unelia.

Such thoughts were mere attempts to distract himself over the three nights of isolation, though like always Johan's mind wandered back to Unelia. Velonia had said that Unelia was alive but slipping in and out of consciousness. The rupture of one of her internal organs reoccured twice and had to be healed again; her suffering was immense, though Celonia only conceded to that fact after much frantic prodding on the part of the young human. Even for a skilled healer like Lamynia, apparently, healing internal injuries was an exceedingly difficult task and the few priestesses skilled enough to do so were a rare but treasured boon to those night elf communities who had them.

The rupture would have damaged Unelia's body beyond what any healer could save had Johan arrived just half an hour later, according to the priestess. It was heartening to hear that the leader of the entire community spoke of him positively to others, and the fact that both the visiting mother and daughter spoke to him in their slowly developing Common for practice led him to believe that not all had listened to Isurith's accusations. Isurith had been contained inside an ancient tree designed for disciplining the unruly that was apparently used only once before, and while two of the locals had been publicly blaming him alongside Gwynneth, Isurith's arrest had apparently tainted her credibility.

For his own safety, according to Velonia, he would still be isolated lest any of the four troublemakers take out their anger on him. Johan didn't particularly believe that and focused on Velonia's listing of his infractions before telling him he had to stay. In addition to his heartache over Unelia's condition and his confusion over all the conflicting feelings he had for her, there was the lingering fear that he truly was at fault. Every time that Velonia dropped by and didn't mention the list of his supposed infractions, he felt his apprehension growing in anticipation of the coming storm. Eventually the topic would need to be discussed and the fact that the locals didn't seem to rush in regard to setting a date by which he would even be allowed to at least speak to Unelia again, much less see her, was psychologically taxing.

Rolling over to his other side in the bed in a 'guest room' upstairs - the men's quarters had been grown to accomodate up to four people if the need arose - Johan stared at the opposite wall as he tried to look at the bright side. He had the solace of knowing that Unelia was in the hands of the most skilled healers on Azeroth, and he could stave off the depression and lingering doubt over her wellbeing by repeating that mantra ad naseum. He was more or less living among the 'dark elves' he read of as a child, just like he'd always wanted. He was in a safe place with safe people; the grove had been on lockdown since that night because the night elves preferred to cure the furbolgs over time rather than just wipe them out. And he at least had company in the second most open person with him.

Not that Uryndil wasn't nice too, but he simply didn't talk much. Silence caused Johan to worry even more as the events above the ravine crept back into his head, and the talkitiveness of Elindir - by elven standards - helped to keep him grounded in reality rather than wallowing in his guilt.

Elindir listened patiently to the entire story of what led to his neice's injury - minus the perplexing yet exhilerating exchange during target practice - and accepted every word Johan said as truth. The story could only be rehashed so many times, however, before the dread regarding Unelia's recovery gripped them both. They didn't have much to do given that the old druid seemed wary of visiting the library often when the rest of the community knew Johan was there. Interestingly enough, the single volume that Elindir did manage to surreptitiously sneak out from one of the many shelves was a treatise on the theory behind all the stringent rules in night elf society and the basis for which individuals would gauge when it was time to break said rules. Though talkative, Elindir was still an elf and still preferred indirect communication, and the underlying meaning wasn't lost on the human.

Early after dusk, Johan was flipping through the pages in an attempt to distract himself from his borderline obsessive thoughts about Unelia's injuries when he once again absentmindedly pried into the personal business of whoever wouldn't rebuff him.

"Hey, Elindir?" he asked while sitting on the floor with his back to the wall.

"Hmm?" The druid was reading himself, something about internal bleeding as he sat on one of the tree stump-like stools.

"You've mentioned to me that Unelia is your sister's child, but what about you?"

Without revealing his face from behind the book, Elindir paused for a moment before double-checking what he had been asked. "You're inquiring as to whether I ever had children?" he asked.

"Well, I was just wondering," Johan quipped with a sincere nonchalance. "I've been told that your people get married for a very long time, but you seem to spend a lot of time by yourself."

The druid shifted on his stump, smiling to himself as he leaned back against the wall as well. "No, no children," he answered with a very slight sound of wistfulness in his voice. "There was a time when we considered it, but Unelia and Isurith were already a handful far, far back in the distant past. Now, they're my only relatives, and may as well be my children."

"We?" Johan asked, this time honestly not realizing that he was prying.

Elindir nodded as he continued smiling to himself, looking down at his kilt. "Yes. I was married once."

"I take it that you've felt the loss of someone very close to you before," Johan said almost apologetically.

"Aye, that is correct." Elindir stroked his long beard as he lost himself in thought. "Rithradia and I were married just before Unelia was born."

The young human's eyes grew wide. Unelia was thirteen-thousand years old to be precise, and elves rarely married young. If Elindir was already betrothed and then married thirteen thousand years ago…he knew Unelia was ancient and immeasurably wise, but to imagine someone beyond that seemed impossible.

"Do you remember that time well?" he asked. "I mean, are the images and feelings still vivid?"

"No, of course not. We may view the passage of time different than you due to having much more of it, but the past is the past. We forget, and sometimes the memories about which we felt the strongest are the quickest to fade. Many of us are left mostly with the everyday and the mundane."

"Do you remember Unelia's aunt?" This time, Johan knew he was prying, though images of Unelia running among the trees filled his head and directed the line of conversation.

Even though the topic was regarding a love he lost, Elindir continued smiling. Normally Johan would assume it to be a defense mechanism, but he could sense that the memories - somehow - brought joy to the old yet still very fit man.

"Certain things remain stronger in memory than others," he began. "It was an arranged marriage, which was the norm at the time, so to be frank I don't remember how we met; the significance was the time we spent with each other when we weren't busy with work or study. What remains more strongly are the times we could simply relax. We once visited the Well of Eternity for…maybe it was a weekend, or a week, I can't remember."

Elindir was staring at the wall opposite him, but Johan could tell that the druid wouldn't have known it was there in front of him. A faraway look similar to - though not as intense as - the trance Priestess Lamynia appeared to be in all the time washed over Elindir, and it was as though he wasn't there, in that grove, in the present as he sifted through thousands and thousands of years of experiences and interactions.

"We were sitting on something not normally used for sitting. A little wall lining a sidewalk, I believe - all our architecture was stone back then. It was night but there were usually these lights, these strange arcane lights hanging over the Well that weren't like sunlight; everything was still dark even with the light. There were other people walking by or picnicking down on the coastline but we were alone in our area. And we kept talking about those lights and how we still enjoyed the sight every time we visited. We never would have expected…at that time…how long we would live. How much our people would see over the course of history. We weren't immortal yet, back before the pact with nature - you know the story of our civilization before the Sundering. But the Well did extend our lifespans beyond those of our ancestors and we always thought we would have more time."

Just then, something incredible happened. The sense of melancholy had lingered just below the surface during the Elindir's monologue, but something floated to the top. At just the right angle, the moonlight filtered in through the tarp covering the second floor window and despite that wistful smile, there was something more in Elindir's eyes. This restoration druid, this mountain of a man, this experienced ancient one who had seen the world ripped asunder and watched countless years tick by as they granted him an objectivity that should have numbed his emotions…was sad. His long eyebrows arched in a frown and he nodded as though granting himself approval for how he felt.

"I remember vividly when I and all the other menfolk left our women on their own in the world when the time came for the Emerald Dream. Shan'do Stormrage led us to join him in this other dimension as we slumbered all our lives away for the sake of preserving the planet, and the women had to switch from the mostly homebound artisans during our patriarchal period before the War of the Ancients, to suddenly become leaders and fighters without any support of us. We knew we had to do it, but I held Rithradia in my arms in this…it was like a clearing somewhere, a big open space in the forest. I saw all the notables and countless others doing the same, bidding farewell when none of us wanted to, had we been given the choice. And I remember how much she cried…I wiped away her tears but I didn't lie to her like many of the other men did. I told her I would find her again whenever it was time to wake up, and that I hoped she would still feel the same. That just made her cry even more."

Elindir breathed deep and waited a long time for continuing, and Johan suddenly understood that the druid didn't even know he was there anymore. He really was reliving the past, and as guilty as Johan felt for sharing in memories that were deeply personal, the human's pure awe prevented him from focusing on anything other than the story.

"The first time we woke up was for the Satyr War. It was only after the demons were defeated that we could wrap our heads around the fact that we had missed roughly three thousand years with our families. Our women, they were changed. Without our help, they rose to become the leaders and it showed. Most of us men shared the same experience. Our women waited for us but the resentment was there; they shouldered all of the difficulties while we slept. Their beauty remained but was accented by scars from their duties defending the forest while we were gone. They were hardened, and more independent than us. But like the others, when I held my wife in my arms again it was still her, even if there weren't any more tears. Changed, but the soulmate with whom I shared a love that had become more intense over the millennia of lonliness. Despite the ruggedness and the battle wounds, she had waited because she chose to, not because she needed me there and would have struggled...because they were already alone.

"And so, we continued our slumber. We went back to the Dream and the women went back to the Vigil. We awoke again for the War of the Shifting Sands, and it was much the same. We reunited, we reminisced, and we parted ways. What could we do? That was our duty to nature itself. But when we woke for the Third War, things changed. Immortality was over, and our society was split. Some were horrified at the loss, but many of us - perhaps most - were delighted. We were free; the younger races could assist us with protecting Azeroth both in the Dream and out, and we even had female druids and male priests. Our fates were our choosing."

Even with all the wars he had been through, even with all the catastrophies he had witnessed, even with all the otherworldly beings he had spoken to directly, that old stone face softened. Johan was rendered speechless as Elindir reached to his cheek and without a single iota of embarrassment or hesitation, wiped away a tear that had fallen. Johan's uncle had slapped him the few times he cried in front of others as a child, telling him to be a man. Yet here was this grizzled mountain man from the dawn of time, calm and collected, openly crying at what was obviously a great loss and displaying no hint of shyness about it.

Without even thinking, Johan sought the last part of the story, feeling a sadness within himself as well.

"What happened?"

"Well…I didn't inquire during the war as I was sure she would be there, waiting for me as she always had been. After Hyjal, I returned here - High Priestess Tyrande had assigned our family to this spot ten thousand years prior in an effort to spread out small settlements across the expanse of north Kalimdor and have a large number of small patrols covering every square mile weekly. So, I came back, as I had before. And I found Unelia and Isurith's hovel, as I had before. My sister - their mother - she was martyred fighting the silithids so my wife had become the head of the household."

Elindir pursed his lips, and even though he had responded to a direct question by Johan, he was still in some faraway place as he stared right through the wall.

"But my wife wasn't there. Rithradia wasn't there. Unelia told me…that a few hundred years prior, my wife was on a patrol during a rainstorm and their unit was trapped. She was caught in a landslide with another sentry. They tried to resuscitate her on the spot, but they couldn't pull her out from the mud in time. She passed on there. You know…we always spoke of children, every time we woke up. Most night elves are ten thousand years old; every time we woke and reunited with our women, if only for a few months, more children and new generations were conceived. And we thought about it. We talked about it. We planned for it. But every time we agreed: later. Later. Later. We'd have time, we thought. And…I guess we waited too long. We lost our chance."

The familiar footsteps of Maya's metal boots could be heard outside; she was lighter than Velonia and Celonia despite being the same height, and her way of walking was brisk, unlike the almost plodding pace of the rest of the patient, cautious elves. She was the only person aside from Niorith to have visited the men's quarters in full armor and uniform since Unelia's accident, and it wasn't a stretch to assume she had come to speak regarding either Johan's status there or Unelia's health.

The human's attention was taken when Elindir, in another show of feelings uncharacteristic of all elves, reached out and laid one of his big hands on Johan's shoulder.

"Johan…I want to tell you something, and I want you to think about my words."

"Yes?" the human asked eagerly, still enraptured by the ten thousand years of painful history dropped on him in a single monologue.

"The past year since I've been awake and without Rithra has been longer than all the thirteen thousand years prior," the druid said with a renewed seriousness in his expression. "Every single morning for a very long time, I blamed myself. I told myself I could have woken up while the other druids slept. I could have been there. I could have done something...but there is no way to predict what can or could happen. And it took me so long to stop blaming myself." He stopped speaking for a moment, his large chest heaving afew times despite his more controlled face. " _It was nobody's fault_. We must learn to accept what has happened as irriversible; blaming oneself will not change the past."

Elindir nodded and let go just as Maya cleared her throat downstairs, standing to one side of the doorway so as not to accidentally peek inside.

"Johan, this is Captain Ironwood," Maya called in her formal voice from below. "We need to share some information with you."

Usage of the plural by a single person in Darnassian was only spoken by Sentinels, the military branch of night elven government, and only on official business. This wasn't Maya; it really was 'the Captain.' Johan stood and looked to Elindir, not knowing what to do.

"Tell her the ground floor is empty," the druid instructed quickly. "They were the ones who quarantined you here, so that means you're a resident - you have the right to grant or deny entry to our dwelling." He gave an encouraging nod to Johan and then the stairs - the men's quarters had them inside the dwelling rather than spiraling outside.

"I'm coming, Captain," Johan called from the window, correctly responding without making her wait but incorrectly hollering out a window to someone on official business, earning a cringe from Elindir. "Please come inside!"

Maya had already taken a seat on one of the two stumps on the ground floor by the time Johan had descended, and her demeanor exuded a polite yet firm formality that worried him. Back straight, armor donned and hands resting on her knees, the sense of familiarity he had gained over the past year - when speaking to him, Maya was the least guarded of all the women save Unelia - had disappeared. She wasn't aggressive, but this was definitely not a personal visit.

Johan sat down across from her, mimicking her formal posture despite his inexplicable discomfort doing so. After the series of the common greetings required by propriety, he took advantage of the elf's patience and shot off a question first.

"How is she?" he asked without masking his sense of concern.

Maya fought back a smile Johan knew was there. "She's much better tonight. Our Priestess inspected her again and found that the internal cuts have closed and only require more rest to heal. The bone spurs in her left foot had to be removed manually, so the assistants put her to sleep again for surgery. It isn't the first time we've seen injuries like this from severe accidents, and there's no fear for her life at this point."

Only then did Johan realize that his chest had wound itself in a tight knot for the previous three days. He'd become used to it and hadn't even noticed, but when a good deal of his stress and mental anguish drained out at the Captain's words, he was able to notice the physical anguish of his muscles and the sudden emotional exhaustion that dragged him down toward the floor. "Elune...thank the goddess...thank the goddess," he sighed, letting his face fall into his palms as he felt like a boulder had been lifted off of him.

Maya shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and her voice dropped in what appeared to be sadness despite her blank expression. "I'm pulling her out of patrols indefinitely. She will walk and even jog soon enough, but without the immortality she'd need to heal fully, running will likely be out of the question since the ageing process will prevent her from recovering to how she once was. Unelia is a skilled archer and has some healing skills, and she still has promise as an assistant guard under Niorith, but she will no longer be able to venture outside; it would be a risk for any mobile unit relying on her as well as to her own safety."

The conversation skipped a beat as Johan furrowed his brow. His heart feared what his mind was already comprehending: Unelia, who for 13,000 years had proudly led patrols while undertaking a duty assigned by the dragon aspects that was at the center of her life and very being, was being forced into retirement. She'd live the rest of however many years night elves born before immortality possessed simply quarantined in the small grove, just as he had been for only three days. Crushing depression weighed down on him and he silently shook his head at the injustice of her fate.

"This is…I don't know how she will accept it," he murmured without realizing he had said it out loud.

"It will not be easy, but this is life," Maya lectured coldly, though this time the sadness broke through her brightly glowing eyes. It was as if the Captain could control her voice, or control her expression, but not both at the same time. "What's done is done…and that brings me to the purpose of my visit."

Leaning forward, Johan braced himself for what he sensed would be a less than relaxed conversation. Maya didn't speak at first, though he could tell that her silence wasn't an invitation for him to initiate the dialogue. After some searching for the right words, she started.

"Johan…what is the nature of your relationship with Unelia?"

Mustering every ounce of his own sense of control, Johan miraculously prevented his eyes from widening and bit his tongue in an attempt to stave off any sort of facial expression. Maya seemed to notice that the human was behaving in as stoic a manner as an elf, and leaned forward herself as if searching for any sort of reaction.

"Well…she's my teacher," mumbled the forester with less confidence than he had intended. "Unelia was the first to reach out, and to offer tutoring in the teachings of Elune, Darnassian grammar and survivalism in return for tutoring for members of your community in Common. She is a consummate professional and a sincere friend."

Nodding at each comment he made, Maya loosened up and appeared sympathetic yet troubled. Johan's suspicions were confirmed as she continued. "For how long was Unelia seeing you in private?"

Johan tilted his head down enough so that his sort of long-ish goatee covered his neck and gulped, not wanting Maya to notice his nervousness at the question. "Can you define what you mean by 'private,' Captain?" he asked despite knowing the answer.

"Did Unelia follow you to your campsites unescorted and spent time with you there?"

"Yes…" he admitted hesitantly. Spying and prying were his vices of choice, but not lying. Especially not to the Captain. "Only twice. The second time was the night of her accident. Uh…could I ask a question of my own?"

"Affirmative."

"How does this relate to the current situation here? Unelia's health, my house arrest in the grove? The furbolgs?"

"Johan…you're aware that our people never go out of our settlements alone, not here and not at any other night elf village, town or city. You're also aware that, although you're the first visitor our community has accepted in it's entire ten thousand year history, there are still restrictions. Unelia showed you the way to our village, taught you the password and sat with you in private leading to an incident that resulted in our community of only twenty five losing one able bodied sentry, patrolwoman and defender. I know you bear nothing but goodwill for our people and most of us feel the same, but not all of us do. And you must understand that, upon examination, the bottom line of what happened gives a negative image to the community."

Not having any logical response, Johan merely hung his head low and remained silent. As much as he felt he and Unelia had done nothing wrong, Maya's words were irrefutable. Despite having ignored his suspicion at the time, a part of him knew from the very moment Unelia approached his camp the first time they spent a night alone together - even if nothing took place other than a shared book reading, reminiscing about the Battle of Mount Hyjal and a practice session at disarming a knife wielding opponent that left the two of them blushing awkwardly - that what they were doing would likely be frowned upon. But the human had allowed his naivete and impatience to rule him, and the conviction that nobody would ever find out caused him to delay the formulation of any sort of potential excuse were they to be caught.

Maya steeled her jaw, and though Johan could sense that there was a measure of sympathy there, he also knew that she had to do her job. He raised his head level again when tilted her chin up to speak again.

"Unelia will likely rest for a few more days, after which the village council will convene for Isurith to seek redress of her grievance - similar but not the same as the sit down meeting that you witnessed the first night you visited," she explained while heading out the door. "Until then, Priestess Lamynia, Niorith and I have decided that you've fallen in to an interesting loophole in our rules. If you wish to remain until we convene our council, then you technically are free to do so since you were already told the old password by a local. If you wish to leave, you will also be free to do so since you didn't enter without that local's permission; a mere accusation of culpability by Unelia's next of kin is not sufficient to hold you. But bear in mind that, pending the result of the council, you might not ever be allowed inside again if you leave now." After waiting a few seconds for the gravity of her words to sink into Johan's mind - and it most certainly did - Maya stood up, a formal sign that their meeting had ended. "Although you will not be allowed to exit the men's quarters if you stay due to safety concerns, I would highly advise you to remain inside the grove until the council regardless."

Without any further hesitation, the Captain walked away and left Johan standing in the doorway. He was unable to move for a long time.

 **A/N: for a bit of background on Elindir's late wife, check the oneshot "Rithradia's Passing" on my Deviant Art account.**


	8. Goodbye

"They granted you the right to attend our village council the moment they granted you the right to remain inside the grove," stated Elindir confidently as he stood in the middle of the room. "If you don't have a right to attend yet must stew here inside one building, then you're a prisoner whether they use that term or not - and they have no charges to bring against you."

Johan and Uryndil were both sitting against opposite walls as the trio ruminated over the meeting in the tree tower that was set to take place shortly. It had been twice as long in coming as Maya had predicted, and very little had been said to any of the grove's three men about it.

Just as Captain Ironwood had promised, Johan was free to roam just in the grassy area behind the men's quarters given that he was accompanied by one of the two druids. A dozen or so various well wishers - literally half the grove's population - stopped to address him politely but uncomfortably as they gave him news on Unelia's condition and made small talk about the latest observations by aerial hippogriff patrols. The tension was palpable, however, as their conversations were still in Common but hushed, and more than a few locals shot Johan dirty looks even with Uryndil, the sterner of the two druids, at his side. Nothing was said of the incident, and Celonia let slip that even she didn't know what was being said behind closed tarps.

Uryndil's voice snapped the young man back to the present.

"If you plan on attending, you must leave now," he advised in that ever-present lecturing tone. "Try to hang back from the main circle, though - it will ease the tension."

"He has the right to sit where he pleases!" insisted Elindir with a forcefulness uncharacteristic of elves in general and such an ancient being as he in particular. Uryndil only rolled his eyes - again, uncharacteristic - as Johan put on his shoes and made his way to the door.

"I'll listen and feel the situation out, if you both think it's possible." Elindir exited with him, causing Johan to turn back. "Will you be able to come?" he asked the druid of tbe talon almost pleadingly.

"I have interceded on your behalf as much as I can in private," Uryndil answered. "Due to extenuating circumstances, it may be better for your sake if I abstain from attending personally."

Nodding though not quite understanding, Johan followed Elindir out and through the eerily empty village. All but a single trio of guards posted outside the front gate had stayed inside that night, though there were still a few of the locals who had chosen to close themselves up in their hovels rather than approach what everyone seemed to expect to be a tense and stressful group discussion.

It didn't take long for the two men to walk all the way through the empty ground floor of the tree tower and make it halfway up to the second floor before they heard shouting. Between night elves. _In the middle of their sacred grove_. Johan and Elindir exchanged a troubled look as they stopped.

"Perhaps I should go up first," the druid said apprehensively.

"Completely agree," Johan murmured, wanting to keep his presence concealed. "I'll sit here on the ramp and won't enter unless it's absolutely necessary."

Elindir grunted his affirmation and ascended the rest of the winding ramp. Walking out of sight, Johan could hear the discussion taper off as the druid entered and sat in what was the far corner, if the slight vibrations in the ramp were any indication. It wasn't long before the argument picked up again.

Though Johan's Darnassian was certainly fluent, he wasn't a native speaker and it was difficult to comprehend every last word when the voices were muffled. The sound traveled out the entryway, on the ramp and around the corner. All he could tell was that there were several voices trading jabs back and forth sharply. He had never heard any elves speak in such a manner before save the way Isurith and Gwynneth spoke about him when they thought he wasn't listening. That the locals were arguing amongst themselves in such a way didn't bode well, though Johan was more afraid for Unelia's future and reputation at that point than what anybody thought of him.

He scooted further up the ramp, leaning against one railing to remain out of sight. From his vantage point, he could see Elindir leaning on the entryway frame, just barely blocking the view of Silviel sitting on a cushion to his side. He could imagine that they were all sitting in front of the silent Priestess in a semi-circle, speaking back and forth as the two assistants tried to maintain some semblance of order. When he was sure that Silviel wasn't looking, Johan slinked up the rest of the ramp and wound around the railing, sitting on the second level balcony with his back against the tree well as he listened from his hiding place. This time, he felt no shame for eavesdropping.

The voices were clear from his new spot and although he didn't entirely have the context of the argument, it wasn't difficult to follow.

"It is not for us to question fate!" exclaimed Niorith in a desperate sounding voice. "What's done is done and we have our sister back, that is the bottom line."

Gwynneth's grating, metallic voice scraped right back at the rather reasonable sounding elf. "I suggest you go look up the meaning of that phrase 'bottom line' because the definition you're using makes absolutely no sense."

"Address the topic, not the speaker," ordered Maya calmly.

"The 'bottom line,' Captain Ironwood, is that our grove has lost a mounted archer due to an incident the causes of which are difficult to believe," Gwynneth said in a snooty tone that was still controlled enough such that nobody could call her out on it. "Niorith, do you really believe this story about Unelia choosing of her own volition to cavort with some pinkskin beside his campfire-"

"Gwynn, this is your last warning!" Maya growled in a defensive tone that filled Johan with relief. The Captain was stern with him a few days ago, but that she still defended Unelia and himself from a crude, baseless accusation was a good sign.

Grumbling, Gwynneth shifted audibly and sounded as though she sat back toward the wall. Isurith didn't hesitate, taking the place of her tag team partner without delay.

"Unelia is my blood sister; I have more right to speak on this than the rest of you," the tallest and meanest person at the grove stated with an unnerving calm. "This outlander entered into our territory. I've expressed numerous times that we should have killed him the first time he refused to leave when we tried to scare him; I was overruled. After he taught us Common, I tried to explain that we took what we needed and should just kill him like that orc we used to keep in the cage outside after it taught some of us its language."

Fighting back the urge to gurgle on the saliva he choked on, Johan clamped his hands over his mouth and held his breath for a moment. Isurith…wanted to actually kill him during those first few weeks before contact, when the shadowmelded elves tried spooking him away? She still wanted to kill him after he taught them Common? Who was this orc they kept in a cage…and then killed?

They had told Johan he was the first visitor to enter the grove…technically true if this orc had been kept in a cage outside, but what else had they not told him? What had Isurith done?

"My advice was not heeded. And now, my sister…" Isurith sighed heavily, the sorrow in her voice clashing with the fact that she spoke so openly of having wanted to literally murder him without provocation as though it were a minor detail. "My dear sister is handicapped."

"That's not true," protested Delebria, the injured nightblade. As controlled as her speaking was, the cadence of her speech and the speed at which she talked implied that she was offended by the comment, considering the fact that she was also quarantined inside the grove due to injuries. "Unelia will partner with me; we are still able bodied members of this community. The interior of the grove as well as the entrance will always need to be guarded."

"That's not what she wanted!" hissed Gwynneth.

"Let her speak for herself!" The last voice sounded like Vadia's but was from the far side of the room and thus a bit unclear.

There were more shouts back and forth as Maya tried to regain control. Even Elindir tried to reason with the pair of elves taking Isurith and Gwynneth's side, though his more rational voice was drowned out by the cacophony. Only a light tapping of the Priestess Lamynia's wand shushed all fifteen people in the room.

Delebria cleared her throat and, when nobody responded, spoke again. "What happened is regretful, but dwelling on it serves no purpose. Everyone has something of value to add to the community and Unelia's new role-"

"New role?" Gwynneth scoffed. "Is that what we're calling a career-ending accident?"

"Unelia's new role will both provide her with a new experience and open the opportunity for others to experience patrols outside. Several of our sisters haven't ventured outside these walls for a few centuries."

"I'm shocked that you're speaking so calmly about a huge mistake that crippled one of our sisters!"

"Are Unelia and I _cripples_ , now?" bellowed Delebria with a sudden fury. "Is that how you view us?"

"You know what I meant!" Gwynneth protested, stubbornly defiant to the bitter end.

"No, Gwynn, I honestly don't."

"Me neither," chimed in Niorith. "Please enlighten us as to what you find so wrong with our sister."

"She's permanently injured, how on Azeroth can you not understand! She's not what she once was! Our sister is restricted to a brisk jog at most because of the distraction caused by her human toy!"

"Gwynn, you've lost the right to speak and by the Goddess I will throw you straight into the tree of woe myself if I hear so much as another word from you!" Maya's voice was commanding and controlled, and a darker part of Johan almost hoped that Gwynneth would react and get herself struck down. "This is a warning for anyone else - there is not to be any false witness in this community!"

Gwynneth only shifted again but kept her mouth shut this time, but the very brief pause was broken quickly once again.

A husky voice snorted, and from the sound of it, the surly Swiftfoot sister wanted to be heard again. "There is no denying that the human had a hand in this," Isurith droned blankly. Her lack of passion didn't make sense considering her words. "For ten thousand years, nothing like this happened to my sister. After only one year of this creature skulking around our settlement, and she nearly dies. The solution to all of this is as clear as the cause."

"What solution?" asked Niorith incredulously. "Johan tore most of the muscles in his body saving her life while putting his own at risk, this conversation shouldn't even be happening!"

"It was the least he could do considering how strongly he has altered her behavior, intentionally or not. She's my sister; I've accompanied her on more visits to this creature than you all have. I live with her. She's changed, forever. I observed how, slowly, she began speaking with him at ease in a way that would be inappropriate even with night elves from a neighboring community. I observed how she eventually focused only on grabbing and holding his attention when she was supposed to be 'tutoring' this creature in an effort to convert him to our faith. I observed how her body language and even the pitch of her voice would change. And I think we all know the results of such changes with the end of the Long Vigil."

This time, there was silence. Though Johan couldn't see inside, the tension was so thick he could feel it out there on the balcony and the worst part was that there was nothing anybody could say. He had always noticed the signs - how could he not when he was behaving much in the same way? - but he had only recently come to think of them consciously. As much as he felt there was nothing wrong with what he and Unelia were doing, as much as he felt it was all innocent, he knew her cultural mores were against their behavior. Like it or not, he and Unelia truly had brought out aspects of each other that he should have known would be so frowned upon. He was almost numb from the helplessness drowning him.

"Isurith…you be very careful with what you're saying," warned Delebria, who seemed to have become extra defensive of Unelia since finding in her another wounded warrior of the night whose future was uncertain. "Think long and hard if you're going to make claims about others."

"I've thought, Delebria, _Elune help me_ I've thought about this more than anyone present here now. It's all I've thought about - what has happened, and what we need to do with this human _pest_. You all know what's happening across communities in our lands. The menfolk have returned, and without immortality we are all slowly dying like these ingrates we share the planet with. We're also reproducing again. For example, Captain Ironwood here just visited her oldest daughter to the southeast and, apparently, will become a grandmother soon."

"What?"

"Captain?"

"Isurith!" barked Maya defensively over the flood of questions and confused murmurs.

"When?"

"How?"

"You never told us!"

"You have no right to reveal my personal information without my permission!" Maya's voice was furious but without her normal strength. Knowing Isurith, she likely threw that in not only to demonstrate her own vindictive point but also to weaken the Captain's position and resolve. How it would be weakened, Johan didn't understand; but judging by how secretive Elindir had been when simply revealing that he was Unelia's uncle, it was safe to assume that family relations were considered something very private among the night elves and, perhaps, a topic that left them feeling exposed or awkward.

"What do you all think was happening?" Isurith asked rhetorically with a tinge of spite. There was iron in her words that hadn't been there before, and the air became thick with hostility as she spoke in a way that was obviously out of turn when in front of their authority figures. "For ten thousand years, many of us fulfilled our duties and lived our lives without any sort of tenderness at all. And some athletic youth comes around, with an appearance and color that is different from us, pining to be accepted and become one of us, focusing all his attention on flattering and ingratiating himself to Unelia, hanging on every word she said, filling her head with fantasies about such a short-lived creature ever being able to fathom our civilization."

There was another brief pause as a strong exhaling breath that Johan knew to belong to the Priestess was heard, and he could tell she was displeased. Something inside him screamed for Lamynia to intervene, to put an end to accusations which, as offensive as they were…sadly sounded true. Yet the surly sister was far beyond driven, pushing again with more bile and venom in her tone.

"How could someone with a rank such as Unelia's think for one _millisecond_ that leaving the grove without informing anybody, without a hunting partner, to spend hours alone at the campfire with her boyfriend, would be an acceptable act? What could cloud her judgment so much that she would violate our values and her own dignity?"

"Watch it, Isu!" shouted Delebria, but to no avail.

"We all know how! _He_ did that to her! By picking the kindest yet loneliest among us, targeting her with his affections and playing on our lack of experience with the outside world! He pushed her to run to him, to follow him, to chase after him and _beg_ as woefully as he did!"

"No!"

"Isurith, respect your sister!" stated Elindir in the closest thing to a shout Johan imagined the laid back druid would muster.

"GO HOME UNCLE ELINDIR, WOMEN ARE TALKING!" Isurith shouted right back, earning gasps and raucous disapprovals from the rest of the group save her few supporters.

The arguing died down slightly as another deep exhale was heard; subtle as always, it was nearly inaudible yet effective. Despite the force in Isurith's voice, a measure of the tension melted away as Lamynia actually moved; her seat creaked as she shifted her weight, possibly even turning to face the disrespectful sister. Silence dominated and the Priestess spoke. "Isurith Swiftfoot, you dishonor our entire community with your manners. It is as though all Elune's teachings about manners have been for naught."

"You're right, Priestess, you're absolutely right! Elune's teachings truly have been for naught in this grove if we let that thing leave without punishment for what it caused!" Isurith sneered, earning more gasps from the others. "For how could it be that my blood sister, the shield sister of everybody here, has so easily been lulled into _lusting after a human_!"

"Enough!" Lamynia said in what was almost the volume of a normal speaking voice. "You and Gwynn both will spend the next few days in isolation again for such flagrant violations of the sanctity of our village. We cannot allow the seeds of discord to be sewn."

"They won't be sewn, Priestess. I'm leaving."

In utter shock at having been spied upon by an unstealthy human, all fifteen pairs of eyes snapped to the entryway as everyone save Lamynia and Elindir gasped upon realizing that Johan had been in earshot the whole time. He had packed his travel bag almost in anticipation of this happening, and had even worn his shoes despite footwear being out of place in a night elf tree dwelling. Standing before them, he was able to see that Unelia had been present yet silent as well while her sister had spoken ill of her. She was sitting next to Lamynia not in the armor of a warrior but in the light gown of a healer, bound to the confines of the tower.

Though all were wide eyed as the eavesdropping visitor watched them all with an apologetic look, Unelia appeared more shocked than them all, her bright silver eyes as wide as saucers as she stared at Johan as though he had come back from the dead.

"I am sorry; I truly am. I stayed behind here a year ago desiring to commune with nature and to live how Elune intended all sentient beings to live. And it was through the kindness of your community that I was able to learn so much more, and to share experiences with you all that I will treasure to the day I die. Words can never express the amount of respect I have for your way of life and for the generosity you've displayed as a whole."

Isurith opened her mouth to speak, but in the most physical movement the priestess had displayed in front of him, Lamynia snapped her arm to the side and pointed her wand straight at the towering sister so fast that everyone in the room - including Elindir this time - jumped. After staring Isurith down until she literally crawled on her hands and knees behind her small group of friends seated on the floor, Lamynia looked back at Johan silently. She said nothing, and he could tell solely from her eyes that she knew he had more to say and wanted him to finish.

"It's because of that respect…that immense respect words could never describe that I now understand that I must leave," Johan continued. "If my presence is causing such infighting in your community, a community which I truly believe emulates a perfect way of life, then I cannot remain here. If you deem me to be responsible for the accident, then I accept the punishment as a fitting end; if I am free to leave, then I will do so immediately. I owe it to you all, for all you've given me, to remove myself and spare you the anguish I see. I just came to say that I'm sorry for the way things I've turned out, and to give my sincere thanks for what I could never repay." He nodded as though to indicate he had nothing more to say, and fifteen pairs of eyes darted between the bold visitor and the Priestess.

After an excruciatingly long pause, she answered. "If that is what you wish...then we respect your decision," Lamynia said with a blank expression that somehow still evoked regret, at least to him. "None of your accusers have provided evidence that you were responsible specifically for the incident; there is no cause to punish you for what happened and the matter is considered closed as of now." Lamynia's tone of voice dropped at the end of the last sentence, and she sent a warning look toward Isurith and Gwynneth. "Johan, there is no longer any reason for you to remain confined in the men's quarters. You are free to leave our grove, now."

Nobody said a word. Aside from Isurith and Gwynneth's small clique, every face appeared dismayed at the thought of their people's first visitor and friend from another race, one who had taught them how to communicate with an outside world they could no longer close themselves off from, leaving them for good.

Every face except one. Unelia had clasped both hands over her mouth as her jaw dropped, trying in vain to contain emotions beyond what Johan had observed in any elf, whether it be those here or the ones back in the Eastern Kingdoms. Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she sat paralyzed, unable to even speak or say goodbye as he turned and left, himself unable to bear seeing not only what he felt he had caused but the shattered look on the face of the person who he finally realized was much, much more to him than a simple companion.

Too afraid to look back, he walked down the ramp, out of the tower and toward the entryway at a rapid pace, forcing himself to ignore the burning sensation behind his eyes at least until he could be sure he was alone again. Ahead, he could see that the ancients had already moved to open as though they had sensed the change in the atmosphere and Velonia and Celonia, who had been posted on guard duty, met his eyes with disappointed expressions only briefly before staring at the ground. He was already passing underneath the wooded natural gate before he heard rather heavy, plodding footsteps running after him.

"Johan, wait," Elindir panted despite the fit old druid not having possibly been tired from the run. He stood to face the young human, both of them exchanging a pained and confused look. "I'm so sorry, you know this isn't our way. The Kaldorei aren't supposed to treat guests like this."

"I know. You don't need to apologize for anything; I know this isn't how any of us envisioned our friendship ending," Johan answered. "But we both know that your community can't continue like this. Not if reaching out will divide it."

The old druid, a man who had lived in another dimension preserving the balance of nature itself, emerging occasionally to face down demons and rampaging monsters fearlessly, was speechless. Elindir tried and failed to find the words to say, though Johan knew there was nothing to be said. Bowing to the druid one last time, the forester fought to control the tone of his voice.

"Ande'thoras-ethil," Johan said, unable to make eye contact.

Elindir's head hung low, and he reluctantly returned the bow, his words hesitant as though they weren't what he had wanted. "Elune-adore…"

Before he even knew it, Johan could hear the creaking of the ancients behind him as the undergrowth appeared to settle over the entryway exceptionally heavily. The ground itself shifted all around him, stones overturning and trees crawling on their roots like spiders and settling back down into other spots. A number of them even rotated, changing everything right up to the canopy itself and making it unrecognizable. Miles and miles of trees shifted loudly, small hills depressed and trenches flexed up into level ground in an almost frightening display of natural power as the very forest itself changed shape and appearance. Turning back one last time, Johan realized that even the entryway wasn't distinguishable from the rest of the impenetrable wood around it, and that were he to try to return one day, he would not ever be able to locate the grove again.

The connection severed, the man turned and ran. Everything he owned was inside a bag strapped to his back, and he just ran. Images of the lost travel log flashed through his head, and he scanned the paths around him for something familiar as he tried to find the furthest reaches he could where none of the grove's patrols were ever assigned. Perhaps, after a period of isolation from other people of any race, he would be able to comprehend what had transpired and what all the boiling emotions within him meant. But at that moment, at that time, he only ran.


	9. Solace

The torrential rain poured over every inch of the forest, breaking through the canopy and echoing between the trees. Visibility and temperature were both low, and although the campfire fought valiantly against the droplets, it could not exude warmth. Much of it must have been caught in the huge leaves and branches above; it might have been a major storm, though down on the forest floor it was difficult to tell. The huge trunks would not sway and even the sound of the wind was mostly drowned out by the thunder above and the natural, normal sounds below. Rain was such a beautiful thing; the renewer and sustainer of life, the preserver of memories, the bringer of calm. In fact, it was one of the few times when a certain human, huddled against one of those trunks to avoid being drenched, could truly sit motionless and inactive without becoming depressed.

Curled up against the trunk of a smaller Ashenvale purplewood, Johan hugged the fur blanket he had fashioned himself even more tightly around him. Sewing garments and blankets from the furs available in the region was yet another skill that a certain person - someone whose name he had tried not to think of due to the pain - had taught him.

That unwelcome ache he had finally termed as a sense of longing returned to his chest as his mind brought him back to the first time she had shown him how to sew. It was at a camp he had made while on the move much like this one, and a patrol of four had stopped by for that week's visit. Two sentries were practicing the phrases in Common he had taught them that night off to one side, and Isurith was fuming behind a hill while tending to the nightsabres. The disgruntled Amazon had claimed rudely that outlanders could never adapt to the teachings of Elune fully, earning an exceptionally harsh rebuff from her shorter yet older sister as Unelia embarrassed her by quizzing her in front of the others with such difficulty that she couldn't answer the questions about Elune's edicts on treatment of guests under one's care.

Unimpeded, Unelia had sat directly next to Johan for the first time; it had only been four months since she established contact with him as a representative of the locals at that time, and had still kept her distance. Elves in general were not touchy feely and he rarely even saw them shake each other's hands. As they sat rather close to one another, he felt as though she moved her arm too far out whenever she pulled the thread, and ended up moving her hand and elbow into his personal space. He could remember his own hand trembling slightly as he tried to focus on the task so as to avoid offending her, and every time he pricked a finger on the needle he could hear her suck air in through her teeth as though she were grinning wide but stifling a laugh. For days he kept hearing that sound as he foraged and traveled through the forest and couldn't help but marvel at how lucky he was to have met her.

Lighting crashing off in the distance snapped him out of his stupor. Those were only memories of the past, better off forgotten to avoid tormenting himself any further. Sitting up straight, he watched the rain fall, allowing the serenity to wash over him.

It had been a few months since that fateful day when he removed himself from the grove - a masochistic move on his part, but much to the benefit of Unelia and the community as a whole. Or so he tried to convince himself.

For months, he wandered the forest again as he avoided the known patrol paths of the grove's sentries. Just as when he had begun his own personal vigil in the land of the fabled 'dark elves' perhaps a year and a half ago - the depression that gripped him since the parting of ways led him to cease marking his calendar - he was more or less alone. The loss of Unelia's travel log, in particular, stung bitterly. For a good three weeks he scouted the area of his former campsite despite the lingering danger of fel corruption, searching every inch of the raised cliff as well as the ravine below. After exhausting his efforts, he'd come to the conclusion that he'd allowed ten millennia of all Unelia's personal thoughts and feelings to slip away. Just one more way that he'd failed her, in his mind, and one more reason why their lives were better with in alone, roaming the forest and attempting to meld back into nature as he waited to die.

Upin and Ipin visited his various campsites off and on, though never both of them at one time. They merely watched over him as always, making the occasional and futile attempts to communicate but otherwise their still irreverent selves. For the first few weeks, Johan had hoped in vain that it was some sort of signal, that the inhabitants of the grove would seek him out and reestablish contact on some level at least.

But it was not so. He should have been prepared to accept isolation once again; he had prepared for and even preferred such a lifestyle when he watched the last column of human and orc troops march south from the forest and on to the marshlands and plains far, far away. Having grown so attached to all the inhabitants of the grove and one who was very dear to him in particular, he finally realized how much more difficult returning to his mobile hermitage would be.

Staring into the rain, Johan was unable to prevent his mind from wandering, reliving the initial encounter that had begun everything, and that was made less tense than it would have been otherwise due to a certain person's presence.

* * *

 _As he had so many times before, Johan could sense their eyes on him as he worked. Even though he'd grown used to the feeling of being watched, he would never feel totally comfortable. That the hidden denizens of the forest hadn't chosen to kill him yet was at least partially expected; he had a feeling that, based on what he'd read of their ways, they woud hesitate to take even the life of a being they viewed as a potential threat. But even if they chose not to, he knew they were capable if they changed their minds._

 _Whether they did or not wouldn't influence his actions. If his choice to leave society would lead to his end, then is was a befitting result of an erroneous choice; if it led to him living his life unhindered, then all the better. Either way, he would continue to behave as normal; even when one of the riders circled him while atop her sabre cat, he pretended he couldn't see her transparent form and went about his business._

 _Starting a fire was rather easy at that point._ _Everything had become so routine that he could feel, even more strongly, that he'd found a way to balance his life without damaging the environment around him. That was the entire goal: to live in tune with something larger than the petty, short term goals of industrialized society. And as the three riders continued to pace just beyond the light of his campfire, thinking themselves invisible, he could almost tangibly sense their confusion at the behavior of the outlander who once spoke to them in their own language._

 _Strangely, they pulled back slightly when he began to roast the quails he'd caught earlier. Most of the time, they'd keep sentries posted near him at all hours of the night when he approached the places where the birds didn't sing._ _During the day, he had always been left undisturbed by their attempts to misguide or scare him southward toward the Barrens, but at night they were always his shadows. That they huddled just beyond his view now felt a bit unnerving._

 _Would that be the night they resortrd to drastic measures?_

 _Slowly, Johan's eyes fell away from the quails he was roasting on flat rocks. Nearly frozen at first, he slowly rose to his feet, staring straight ahead and holding his hands up near his shoulders. Not even the leaves rustled overhead as he crept forward a few steps, hypnotized more by awe than by fear._

 _One of the riders was standing just a few yards in front of him._

 _That she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen was not the main focus of his attention. Nor was the fact that her sabre remained at the ready, nor that her two companions were standing on either side of him with their weapons gripped tightly. No...what grabbed his attention forcefully was the fact that the individual from the first time he spoke had broken her shadowmeld. The first time, she knew he could see her; now, she was allowing them to do so._

 _Not wanting to let his anxiety increase, he tried to communicate again._ _"Greetings," he murmured in their language, taking care to keep his voice low out of respect. The woman's long eyebrows arched in pleasant surprise; on her relaxed face, it looked rather animated and lively. She didn't respond immediately, but she didn't grip her weapon the way the others were._

 _After what felt like a lengthy pause,_ _her lips parted and she spoke in a voice that reminded him of wind chimes. "Greetings, stranger..." She paused again for a long time, expecting him to break the silence. When he did not, she appeared surprised again. "You have dwelled in our forest for...a period of time." She sounded almost unsure, as if finding the right words were difficult._

 _Johan's heart fluttered at the sound of the voice of the first one of the locals who looked him in the eye._ _Forcing himself to focus on the very first conversation he'd held with any of them, he tried his best to remain respectful in tone. "I apologize if my presence is unwanted. I seek only to live my life; nothing more."_

 _Barely, just barely, her lip pulled up at one of the corners of her mouth as she looked at him. She looked as if she were...smiling_ _. Unable to resist, he found himself smiling along with her._

 _For a moment, she turned back to look at her still shadowmelding companions, shooting them an unreadable look. When she turned back toward Johan, she opened her mouth as if to speak..._

* * *

Another flash of lightning roused him from the brief, unintentional nap he had fallen in to. The rain still poured down and by that time, the campfire had been extinguished entirely. The air was cold even huddled against the tree trunk where he could stay dry, and he pulled the blanket tightly around himself again.

Shaking off the memory was surprisingly easy this time. After a few months literally without any sentient interaction, not even the feeling of being watched, he found that the longing for what he had lost was easier to ignore. The pain was still there; it wouldn't disappear so readily, but it was easier to ignore. The rigors of living as a lone nomad provided him with enough day to day duties to keep his mind busy. It was only times like this, where the elements prevented him from preoccupying himself with any form of activity that his mind wandered.

That wandering hurt. His mind would play tricks on him, taunting him with images and sounds from his past. Most of his life back in the Eastern Kingdoms had been forgotten; emotionally, he wasn't particularly attached to that period. The past year and a half in his relatively short life had affected him more than any other period, and the waking dreams were rare but still haunting.

Even then, through the dark over his burnt out campfire, he could still feel a presence. It was much like the presence he felt the first time the night elves had observed him while not realizing that he felt them there the whole time. The familiar crunches of boots and grunts of the nightsabres echoed through his mind as they first tested him and then tried to scare him out of their forest, and he could feel how confused they were when he didn't react as he assumed other outlanders who had wandered in did.

He could almost hear the purr of one of the big cats now, and feel the yellow eyes on him; the beasts had a tendency to shadowmeld just like their riders. It felt so real, so strong, as though just beyond the burnt out embers of his campfire, a light was reflecting through the rain. Two lights, like the burning silver eyes of one of the Kaldorei he had so foolishly thought he could befriend.

"Who's there?" he asked in vain, almost chastising himself for saying it out loud.

The purring drew nearer, and a very real presence came with it. Two silver lights shone through the rain, illuminating a pair of long ears shivering in the cold underneath a hooded cloak.

At first, Johan merely stood up but didn't move forward, his hands already trembling as a hundred and one thoughts and feelings crashed into him like a whirlpool. After so many months, he'd grown used to the idea of living alone again; he almost didn't believe what he was seeing. The hooded figure descended from a soaked sabre that ran past the both of them to huddle against the tree. The woman stood there, clutching the edges of her cloak to keep herself out of the rain as those two silver eyes stared hesitantly.

No longer able to control himself, Johan rushed forward, tossing his blanket against the tree trunk as he felt the freezing cold droplets of rain matting down his long hair. A bow dropped to the ground at the same time and the cloak flowed behind her as she limped forward on healed but impaired legs, her arms already held out. Whether their cheeks were stained with tears or rain droplets wasn't clear and didn't matter. She practically leapt into his arms, and he could literally feel the force of her heart pounding against his as she clung to him, lifting her feet off the ground as he spun her around without even thinking.

She pulled him back up against the tree, both of them shivering and likely becoming sick out in the rain. Thankful that he'd tossed his blanket in a dry place, he grabbed it once they were against the trunk and pulled her soaked cloak off without even asking so he could wrap them both up together. Her travel bag had been tied to a tassel inside, partially falling open and revealing her recovered travel log as he laid it against the tree trunk where it would be safe from the rain. Perhaps it was all in his head, but their bodies pressed together beneath that blanket felt like they created the warmth of an oven, and his shivering felt as though its source was emotional rather than physical. And when she wiped her slightly damp hair away from her head, his joy was mixed with an incredible pain that those kind, giving silver eyes of hers looked upon with concern.

"What's wrong?" she sobbed happily but worriedly as she cupped his cheek the way she had the night he pulled her from the river.

He choked the first few times he tried to speak, unable to form the words after so long. She brushed his wet hair from his face, and the two of them merely held each other as he struggled to answer.

"I...I never expected to see you again," he sighed as he held her close.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held in to him as if she had nothing else to hold on to. The pain he felt the night he'd watched her fall so many months ago returned, mixing with the joy of their reunion and causing his head to spin. "It's real," she whispered, grounding his mind in reality again. "I'm here; it took me so long to plan...to wait...but I found you. And no one will make me go back."

For a few seconds her words didn't quite register, the scent of ozone, pure rainwater and myrrh invading his nostrils as the two of them clung to each other. Once they did, however, he felt his heart sink. "Make you...go...?" he asked in confusion. "What's happening?"

Pulling away from him momentarily, she gazed at him with surprisingly little sadness in her eyes. "The grove has been on lockdown for the entire time since you left," she replied with a measure of bitterness in her voice. "The only patrols are aerial, via hippogriff; the ground entrance has been permanently sealed, as if we can just go back to the way things once were...our village is more closed off now than it ever was before."

"I can't believe...why? What is Priestess Lamynia doing?"

"She's cutting the head of the snake. Her connection is closer to the goddes than all of us, and she knows it isn't beneficial...but it's her job to prevent discord. And a minority caused such an uproar when you were allowed to go free that she had to seal the entrance lest Gwy...lest certain people openly challenge her. Nobody could come close to succeeding, but to open that door means to damage the sisterhood...and so...the door is closed."

He cupped the back of her head, in awe of how evenly she spoke of the disruption in what had previously been ten millennia of peace. "But you're on a sabre, not a hippogriff...how did you leave?"

Grinning and speaking without a hint of regret, she proceeded to give him another shock. "I've been planning for months...Isurith watches me like a hawk, so I had to wait. Only Delebria knows. A nightblade always knows ways to infiltrate and to escape. For sure, they all know that I left by now...I love them all, but I had to choose." Her voice trailed off for a moment. Although the was still without regrets, there was an added solemnity to her tone. "They won't allow me back in...not now. Not after the uproar that followed your departure. For better or for worse, my critics will see me as much an outlander as you. And if that's how they want it, then let them think that. I made my choice."

As deep and as unfathomable as her mind seemed to him, Johan could feel her; he _knew_ that he could. And he knew for certain that her sadness was not from remorse so much as disappointment at the attitudes of the noisy minority. That knowledge, however, didn't calm his aching soul.

"How could you come out here?" he asked, his heart a mess of relief and guilt. "I've ruined your entire life. Everything was perfect in your community before I came."

Unelia shook her head without skipping a beat. Though she was still teary eyed as well, her voice was more controlled and she was much more sure of her words. "That's not true, at all," she replied with the utmost certainty. "Our lives were adequate before but not perfect. We were empty; you brought me to life."

"I can't believe that, Unelia. Everything was fine before. Your civilization was flawless; I came across the ocean just to experience it. And now, my actions have spoiled that for you-"

"No, by the Goddess no!" she chuckled and sniffled while hugging up against him again. "Our civilization is amazing to you because you've seen both worlds; I only saw one before I met you. I don't regret anything that's happened; I learned so much."

Lightning crashed again before she continued, Johan simply mesmerized by how she could possibly not resent him for the results of him walking into her life.

"We were drones during the Long Vigil. Aside from occasional outrage at satyr or demon attacks, we felt nothing. We were conscious and sentient, but we were like the machines the dwarves used during the Third War. We ate when we were hungry, slept when we were tired and were as feral as the sabres we rode. It was serene, but it was lonely and joyless.

"Had we not met the younger races, maybe we would have continued in blissful ignorance. But the loss of our immortality was fate, and it's for the better. Mortality brings with it loss but there cannot be true joy without loss. I would never go back to the way things were before, and would never trade all that has transpired for the world. Because we can die now, the night elves will value everything else so much more. We will truly live, we will truly laugh and cry. We can reproduce and bring children into the world again now."

Unelia ran her hand over the top of his head, through his hair and held the back of his neck as he mimicked her every movement, unsure if it was all a dream. "I heard about pregnancies at other groves. Maybe that means my people will finally learn how to continue our existence on this planet. Maybe we will learn to start families again." Her voice dropped as she gave him such a serene look that they both forgot the pain of separation. "I know for a fact that we have already learned how to love again...maybe we will, one day, live as normal people do."

His heart fluttered at the thought but dropped at his lingering guilt. "If you truly realize all of this, then you didn't need me to barge into you life and turn it upside down."

"You didn't, Johan! I swear you didn't," she exclaimed, ever patient, ever certain. "I realized it on my own, but I never experienced it. In the beginning, more than a year ago, you were a curiosity and all of the grove respected your efforts to follow the true path. They all felt you were peaceful and they pitied that you had been born into such an unattuned culture. I and the others took you in as a mercy, as we knew you fought years of foul socialization from your upbringing. I took you on as a student as an act of charity with a kindred spirit.

"But you did something to me without even trying. For millennia I never felt much of anything. And even if I didn't show it, I began feeling a stirring within my heart after the first two months of meeting you. Your jokes made me laugh. Your learning and achievements made me proud. Your…your affection made me melt. I told nobody, not even you, for fear of being judged. But when you cried over me that night by the river, when you fought so hard to keep me alive, when you gave your all for the sake of me, I couldn't deny what I felt anymore."

Noticing that her shivering increased, Johan pulled the blanket over the back of her head, and she pulled him by the flaps of his fur jacket to draw him in with her.

"I am no longer afraid because even if my people don't understand, I do," she whispered as they slumped against the tree, sharing each other's body heat. "I understand that what I feel for you is as real as what you feel for me. Just as you stayed by my side in my darkest hour, I will never, ever leave you through all of yours. No matter what anybody thinks…I have no regrets."

Two souls huddled even closer together as the downpour increased, seeking each others warmth from the cold rain. They clung together, both having left behind their respective peoples, knowing that whatever happened, they'd have each other.


	10. All Apologies

Serenity Grove was abuzz with renewed energy behind its construction push that day. A brand new stable had been raised along with the appointment of a quartermaster from Ironforge, and the addition of all the laborers had led to demand for a second new inn to be built. Eventually, they would finish the most recent work and give way to a new wave of residents: gnomish scientists apparently believed the local water table contained some sort of naturally cleansing enzymes that could be replicated elsewhere.

Velonia surveyed the open side of Serenity, the once nameless grove that was now enclosed on only three sides instead of all around; a dreadful sense of exposure washed over the warrior of the night, mixed in with her alarm at the tendency of these outlanders to always insist on so called 'defensive' layouts that left the village open to attack. The entire north end was open to the forest and ringed by a combination of wooden fencing, waystation services and a checkpoint. On one side was the banner of the Sentinel Army; on the other was the blue and gold flag of the Alliance. It was a major sticking point for the once small community that the wider faction had dubbed Serenity for administrative purposes, and that flag was viewed by some of the older individuals among the two dozen original inhabitants as a sign of colonial domination. The day that a rather pompous human diplomat from Stormwind alongside an overseer, ten laborers and a contingent of unfamiliar Kaldorei soldiers from the fabled new capitol of Darnassus all arrived, waving a signed missive from the forum of High Priestess Tyrande herself, all members of the community knew it was the end of an era. All twenty four of them.

The new flight point was established before the quartermaster - there was no point in maintaining a stable until after the humans had completed their crudely hand-built paved road insultingly dubbed as 'authentic dark elf style.' For ten millennia the hippogriff roost had stood, naturally grown like the rest of the structures, but apparently it did not conform to the safety standards set by the transnational government that Darnassus was now a part of; the same was true of the cozy dugout cottages of the two dozen original inhabitants, which were apparently considered a fire hazard. Gone were the hovels formed by short, squat hollowed out trees with half the height of the naturally grown structure tucked into the earth, all dozen or so of them returned to the soil by a reversing process undertaken by a team of Azsharan druids who themselves appeared guilt stricken throughout the whole process. They were then replaced by more of the offensive handbuilt structures of the humans that sacrificed comfort and homliness for the sake of compactness and efficient usage of space. Plots of land that had once been inhabited by three or four elves were now occupied by three or four elves, five gnomes and eight humans crammed into three story apartment buildings with ground floors made of stone carved by hand rather than raised from the soil by the grove priestess.

Before leaving, the druids had naturally grown one structure - a huntress lodge for hosting outside night elf patrols who now had a tighter rotation schedule and had less time to get to know anyone in the community. In the past, the huntresses were often shared between groves for decades or even centuries at a time before returning to their ancestral villages; it both helped all night elves in one province memorize the common patrol routes as well as increased the sense of sisterhood between villages. If anything, though, the new addition of more anonymous night elves who remained for only weeks at a time just added to the cultural dilution felt by the originals, and when the provincial capitol of Raynewood began requesting up to five of the remaining twenty four originals for rotation three times a year, the hopelessness of an occupied, colonized native people set in. After naturally clearing out the entire north wall and sending the two ancients elsewhere only for them to be replaced by a mixed contingent of night elf and human guards, the regretful Azsharan druids left forever and there was no going back.

The community's original leader, Priestess Lamynia, did not take it well. Her tree tower was the only original structure to remain aside from the moonwell - allowed to stand by the Alliance for respect of the almost mocking concept of 'cultural sensitivity,' though even that came from another Darnassian missive with fine print (written in Common, of course). The ground floor was a fifty-fifty split between Kaldorei and Alliance officials, while the second floor that was once the village council shared by the same twenty five individuals for ten thousand years was commandeered by the humans - again, with a missive bearing the seal and blessing of Tyrande Whisperwind. Whereas questioning her command would have been considered heresy a year before, many of the originals openly doubted the veracity of the claim to her being Elune's chosen. When the rotating night elves from outside reacted as negatively as any would to heresy - which was not taken lightly in such an undiverse society - the few remaining original inhabitants of the grove known as Serenity realized that they, like many of the smaller communities they had heard of in the province, were truly alone. Large night elf settlements such as Astranaar and Auberdine had actually benefitted from membership in the Alliance, hence the support of the visiting huntresses for the blue and gold flag; the originals of the grove now known as Serenity found no support from anyone save themselves.

The entire second floor had been taken over by officials from Stormwind and Ironforge, with a rare non druid male night elf sharing the planning and command deck as they monitored movements of Horde soldiers. Although Priestess Lamynia had been a beloved leader there for so long, the humans appeared to have a subconscious bias for males, causing many awkward misunderstandings with their tendency to address the local druid Uryndil as though he were somehow a representative for what had been a matriarchal society for so long. Like a declawed nightsabre, Lamynia spend most of her days locked away in the third floor of her tower receiving guests from among the originals as decisions were made a floor below her about the fate of the grove, with her only input being various edicts decided elsewhere by officials who had never even visited the place expecting her rubber stamp on everything for appearance's sake.

Velonia sighed sadly, ignoring the gawks and overt, rudely nosy questions from her two concerned human partners at the checkpoint. They never seemed to stop talking and asking questions and would stare, point and comment at every last single Goddess forsaken thing happening or merely existing around them. Even when she held still at her post and stared into the woods without responding, nearly a minute would pass before they would take the hint and retreat to their own posts, audaciously grumbling about how elves supposedly had no manners.

All the originals felt the loss. As she scanned the paved cobblestone road lined with a wooden fence - fashioned from the corpses of murdered trees, no less - the fakeness that the whole scene reeked of was overwhelming. Every quarter mile, there were lampposts bearing wisp-powered light stones to illuminate the forest floor, insultingly designed with the authentic Kaldorei aesthetic of Lunar Festival lanterns despite night elves not needing any light for their paths other than that of the stars. If anything, their night vision resulted in the lanterns making their patrol duties on the numerous new roads throughout Ashenvale even more difficult due to the relative brightness in their vision.

"Her will be done," Velonia repeated to herself in a voice so low that even she almost couldn't hear it.

This was fate, she thought to herself. The night elves had been members of the Alliance for four months. In that time, all the administrative and architectural changes had wiped away ten thousand years of history. Her mother Celonia had been transferred all the way to Winterspring, a distance that would require at least a month off duty for a decent visit. Month long vacations were only earned after a decade of duty during the Long Vigil; without their immortality, the older generation born before immortality had even started - such as Celonia - were already ageing. She may not have another decade left considering that she was already more than six millennia old when the Vigil began...for the first time in many centuries, Velonia felt herself fighting off tears at the thought.

Though, who was she kidding...the decision was no longer theirs anyway, so there was no point in fighting it. Darnassus acknowledged Stormwind as the interfactional capitol. High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind, who had led their people from the Kaldorei bronze age up through the iron and then dark ages and into the present, was lower in the hierarchy than some short lived human monarch across the ocean. The humans now led the night elves. A group of boorish men now led Priestess Lamynia. And with the transfer of Silviel and four others all the way to Feralas and Tirith to some Alliance expedition to Stranglethorne where she was literally the only elf, the original inhabitants who had ruled the once nameless grove for ten millennia were now outnumbered by people who had only arrived in the past few months by a ratio of four to one. The melancholy slowly transformed into depression as Velonia, ever true to the night elven ideals of restraint and self-control, silently mourned for what they all believed was a perfect way of life erased so quickly and carelessly.

She did not even pay attention to the visitors slowly ambling up the road. The two human guardsmen were already standing at attention, wondering why there were two people on only one nightsabre when there were no more additions from the Sentinel Army scheduled to arrive that week. That week...the Alliance appeared to change schedules almost daily, placing no value on consistency.

"Halt! There are no visits registered for today, are you travelers?" one of the two indistinguishable human guards stated with a voice he was obviously making too loud on purpose as though to show off.

Velonia tried to ignore the whole exchange. The humans were not only as obnoxious as orcs, but also seemed to cut down trees at a faster rate. A part of her almost wondered if her people would have been more at home among the Horde...the humans already seemed to regard her people's traditions as savage anyway.

The travelers continued approaching. Riding sidesaddle atop was a Kaldorei woman wearing the distinctive cloak and cowl donned by their people during stealthier, smaller patrols. The earholes were weathered as though she had been wearing and washing the same clothes for a long time. She held herself carefully on the sabre's back as though she were experiencing difficulty balancing.

"Citizens, you must state your business! It's official procedure in these newly acquired Alliance territories," ordered one of the two armor-clad guards. Velonia had to restrain herself from going rogue and making him regret the statement right there.

From the corner of her eye, she saw that the person leading the sabre on foot was a human. A very tall human wearing the furs, kilt, and cowl typical of a night elf man, but a human person nonetheless.

But...something wasn't normal.

Unlike all the Alliance inhabitants, he wore no insignia and didn't respond dutifully to the interrogation of an armored foot soldier. His eyes weren't darting around to look at every single object and direction around him, and his head movement was as slow and methodical as his gait. As they approached, Velonia noticed that even his breathing was slower than that of the other humans. Were she to close her eyes and feel his presence rather than see it, there was absolutely no way she would have thought him to be anything other than a very short male night elf. And she could have sworn the glint in his eyes was just a little too bright to merely be the reflection of light.

"Is this the sacred grove of Priestess Lamynia?" the elf like human asked in a low, purposeful tone.

Velonia's eyes nearly popped out of her head. Spinning around so fast that one of the human guardsmen jumped, she dashed forward and shoved the other guard aside like he weighed nothing. Eschewing the usual rules of propriety in her shattered society, she reached forward and tugged on the man's cowl, unable to speak as she saw familiar pale colored eyes bearing an unfamiliar shine to them. The beard and hair had grown a bit longer and wilder, if anything causing him to look even more like a Kaldorei aside from his coloration. Velonia's jaw dropped open as she looked from the man to the woman and back again, ignoring the irate human guardsman as he tried to pull his comrade out of the drinking trough in front of the horse stables.

* * *

A group Serenity originals chatted amongst themselves in a small circle of benches next to the tree tower, whittling their time away. With the influx of Alliance guards posted both to help protect the water table analysis and to ensure the locals adhered to missives from Darnassus that were likely dictated by Stormwind originally, their guard duties were significantly reduced. The leisure time was welcome at first, but without the duty of protecting their sacred grove and surrounding area twentyfour - seven as well as the higher calling of the World Tree, aimlessness set in and they all found themselves bored out of their minds. Sitting in a circle for hours on end as they mostly talked about the past over and over while consuming way, way too much refined sugar and fatty foods took their minds off of their new, shared experiences with illness, pains of ageing and a sense of monotony.

Vadia was the first to stand, cupping a hand over one of the annoying lanterns the Alliance representatives had planted everywhere as part of 'standards and practices.' The gaudy, imitation contraptions already interfered with their vision due to the combination of light and dark, and the fast approach of Velonia with visitors depite her being on duty was unusual. The whole situation seemed amiss

"Who is that?" Vadia asked to the entire group as she spied a cloaked night elf riding a sabre in an odd fashion.

Elindir, one of the two local druids, emerged from the ground floor of the tree tower, smiling as he went about his daily rounds, ever cheery in the face of such monumental changes. At the sight of Velonia and the two visitors, he dropped the mail from the Cenarion Circle he had been carrying, garnering confused looks from Niorith and Delebria as they stood to join Vadia halfway between the benches and the approaching sabre. The big cat stopped, and the human not acting like a human took the rider into his arms and helped her down. Her movements were plodding, and she took steps as though she were carrying a great burden by merely walking. Velonia took the woman by the hand and guided her the rest of the way, and the three originals stood in shock as Elindir, the jolly yet still collected mountain of a man, rushed forward to give the two travelers big hugs before sharing a few hushed but urgent words. Leaving the two men to converse, Velonia nearly carried the woman the rest of the distance.

Niorith raised a trembling hand to her face. "Unelia?"

The three originals froze in place, unable to lift a finger as the visitor pulled the cowl back over her ears to reveal a haggard yet kind face, weathered by what seemed like much time spent living on the move and sleeping on the ground. Though she had not reduced herself to begging, her eyes were downcast.

"Please excuse our intrusion," Unelia apologized in a tired voice. "But in the past year, some...hard times have befallen the two of us in the wilds. I know that the...circumstances under which I left were not the most ideal. Thus, I will understand if our request for shelter isn't accept-"

Delebria and Vadia were the first to break out of the paralysis, both sisters reaching forward to take Unelia's hand in theirs. "How can you call this an intrusion! This is your home!" Vadia exclaimed. Though more subdued, Delebria did send Unelia a subtle wink that didn't escape Johan's attention.

A chorus of relief, sobs and denials of any wrongdoing erupted as the three were joined by two more of the originals. Unelia appeared overwhelmed after having lived in exile for a year due to her choice. Niorith, still shocked beyond speech, even moved forward to break every rule in the book and kiss Unelia on the cheek, eliciting a round of coy laughter from the others that lightened the mood.

"I did not expect such a reaction. You know - I'm sure you must know - that if I can't return with Johan, I will not return at all," Unelia confessed demurely but not weakly.

"Our people are members of the Alliance now; our laws are not the same as before," Vadia sighed as she ran a hand through Unelia's hair, the crowd gathering around her seeming to break out of their shells at the sight of their truant sister. "But we would still fight for the right of the two of you to come home, even if it weren't the case."

Unelia scanned the area, noticing how much more crowded the grove felt with all the changes. Her eyes fixated on something, and when Velonia walked up beside her defensively the others turned to see two tall off duty originals staring at the group with wide eyes. Down the new road from the benches, two prickly huntresses who had been instrumental in Johan's departure had wandered within view by chance. The two groups exchanged uncomfortable stares for just a moment longer.

Gwynneth was scowling in Johan's direction as if to blame all the changes in their village on him, but Isurith saw only her sister from down the street that had been so shoddily built around the tree tower. The entire group stood still again, unsure of what Isurith would do upon seeing the blood sister she had helped drive away with her cruel xenophobia a year before - only to see their community torn open by the outside world in a way none of them could have imagined.

Isurith took a step forward from down the street, and Niorith stiffened. Even some of the immigrants took notice as the younger but larger sister took long strides forward, radiating a palbable tension as everyone around was silenced in anticipation of what she would do. Isurith had been furious. She not only blamed Johan for the accident that put her sister into retirement from combat, but was also the intigator of the final argument months after he had fled that led to Unelia's humiliation in front of the others, and Isurith's own demotion and flogging for slander due to said argument. Unable to cope with being kept away from the young man who had become much more than a friend to her, Unelia had made a choice and chose the outlander. The night she made that choice was the last time the two sisters had seen each other before being separated for the first time in twelve thousand years.

And there Isurith was, quickening her pace and rate of breathing despite Niorith nudging the others out of the way in case she had to prevent the situation from escalating (and put her own self in harm's way) by tackling the very angry Isurith;

Ferocious, vicious Isurith who was feared by all the Horde (and formerly, even Alliance) agents in the area;

Strong, indomitable Isurith who had forced a corrupt furbolg warband to retreat solely from intimidation;

Stoic, emotionless Isurith who once broke a satyr's horn off and stabbed him to death with it while laughing even more maniacally than the demon had;

Big, bad Isurith who held a stiff upper lip even when receiving news about their mother's matyrdom in the War of the Shifting Sands, and had berated her sister, her uncle and his wife for having dared to weep.

And all her power and prowess drained out as the tormenter collapsed in a weeping mess before she even made it as far as Unelia's feet.

Nobody dared to interfere in the reunion, though Velonia and Niorith helped Unelia to limp over to her fallen sister, pulling back once she bent down to take Isurith's hands in her own and pull her sister up into a kneeling position. Isurith clutched tightly onto the folds of Unelia's weathered cloak and burst into loud, shrill sobs as though she'd just watched a loved one die. How ironic, then, that she had refused to shed a tear when faced with actual death of a loved one, and a millennia later cried from guilt.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" was all she could choke out in between fits of convulsing, quaking cries.

More humans and gnomes stopped to gawk, though a death stare from Velonia sent them on their way, and Niorith led Vadia and Delebria to form an elven wall to shield the reunited sisters from bystanders. Isurith seemed inconsolable at first, and was completely oblivious to the fact that Gwynneth turned her scowl on her former partner in crime. All the resentment that had been focused on Johan and even Unelia tangibly pulled back and burned a hole into the back of Isurith's head as Gwynneth sent a death gaze ten times more awful than Velonia's, but to no avail; the two sisters were in their own world. Hissing once more at the futility of her own glare, Gwynneth stormed away for the last time, disappearing from view and eventually from the village itself before the night was even through.

Grunting with the effort of shifting her weight, Unelia knelt as her sister did and pulled her into an even-level hug, waiting for the larger, near carbon copy version of herself to stop hyperventilating before pulling away to look her in the eye.

"I was wrong!" Isurith shrieked, having better control of her breathing but not her tone of voice. "Oh Uni, I was wrong! I couldn't sleep for the first week after you left!"

"Shhh, it's in the past."

"I passed out and had to be put on fluids!"

"It's all okay now-"

"Forgive me!"

"You know I will," the older yet shorter and slightly less abled sister answered without hesitation "We'll always be family, no matter what. Even in the moments where we wished to return, neither of us were angry." Elindir led Johan forward to stand among the others, and the young man who suddenly behaved as though he had aged much more than a year opened his mouth to console Isurith before she burst open again.

"I was wrong!"

Unelia smiled warmly despite Isurith's hysterics. "Everything is okay, even if you prefer that we don't stay here," she whispered. "And if you accept our presence, then I promise that I'll never leave you again."

"This grove is your home, no matter which flag is flying at the front."

The familiar noble voice had already begun to age over the past few years of mortality, but it was still recognizeable anywhere. Johan helped Unelia and Isurith both to their feet as Lamynia, in a rare foray out of her tower, stood behind the group with her two assistants. No longer wearing the ornate silver chains signifying authority she once held over the community she built, the Priestess had sufficed with the light armor an archer donned when preparing for shorter hunting trips into the surrounding area.

Isurith had only just begun to glance between her sister's face and midsection in confusion when Lamynia sheathed her bow and stood at ease. "You know the past year weighed as heavily on us as a thousand did during the Vigil," she joked in a rare sign of good humor from someone ancient even in the view of Elindir.

Unelia bowed congenially to the only leader she could bring herself to acknowledge. "It was not a decision taken lightly...but I hope you understand."

"I do. We are not the unfeeling, feral shadows in the night we once were." Lamynia laid a hand on Unelia's shoulder and began peering into her, the energy in her eyes almost swirling as she appeared to read the returning sister's thoughts. "And I sense that you bring a new addition to our grove."

Silence. Silence and stares. Silence and stares and gasps. Unelia only nodded coyly as Isurith reached forward and felt the bump in her belly with a shaking hand, punctuated by Elindir clapping a rather sheepish looking Johan on the shoulder.

"This grove was established by your mother, Celonia and I ten thousand years ago, when you were but a three thousand year old old whelp," Lamynia said warmly with a casual tone nobody had ever heard from the Priestess. "Tomorrow, we will pray under the stars and celebrate Unelia and Johan Swiftfoot continuing your mother's name with the first child born right here in our community since the war in Silithus."

Finally understanding what was going on, the others gasped and Velonia, a few millennia old herself but still young and impetuous compared to the Priestess, not only broke the rules but threw them right out the window by squealing like a human teenager.

The entire group converged on the two returning members, and Isurith even spent extra effort to apologize to Johan specifically (though without directly mentioning the whole 'wanting to kill him' thing). As they all prepared to skip the makeshift registration office imposed upon the tree tower and seek the moonwell for a traditional baby blessing instead, Lamynia took Unelia and Johan both by the wrists and pulled them close.

"Welcome home."

* * *

 **A/N: like many of my lighter stories that are meant to be romantic, this one might be kind of cheesy, but I'm happy. I hope that those reading were able to get a smile out of this one as well.**

 **I say "others" because most of my stories haven't been posted yet; I have enough material for a few more years on my cloud and external hard drive. Unelia and Johan will appear in more than one of those stories, but in supporting roles as we watch other women of Serenity take the stage. They're all a part of a little continuum I have going; details about which stories occur in what years on the Warcraft timeline are on my Deviant Art account.**

 **For now, thank you so much for reading my little study of interracial romance in a remote, backwater area. Next week, I'll start posting two more stories in the continuum: Escape From Ashran, which features Isurith (under her new alias) in the present, as well as Caledith, another woman from the village as she raises three generations across nine millennia at Serenity.**


End file.
